


please pull me from the dark

by saintawesome



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Knotting, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pseudo-Incest, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-01-05 07:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18361808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintawesome/pseuds/saintawesome
Summary: Klaus is 13 when he presents at the dinner table.  It goes downhill from there.





	1. Luther

Klaus is 13 when he presents at the dinner table. 

He’s been feeling off for several days, a low-grade mixture of fatigue, abdominal pain, and diarrhea that has his father confining him to his room and the bathroom, unwilling to risk Klaus passing anything on to the rest of his siblings.

He doesn’t mind. Three days off training is like heaven. Klaus spends most of the time napping, listening to music, smoking weed, and daydreaming about that extremely hot fireman he saw at that last arson case they handled.

He’s feeling much better by the third night, well enough that Dad lets him come down to dinner with the rest of the family. He’s halfway through the meal (roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and green beans), doing his best to tune out the nasal droning of Major something-or-other, describing how to field-strip an M16 rifle, when he feels a wave of warmth washing over him.

It creeps, moving up his body like sinking into a hot bath, before it settles into his bones. He puts his fork down, touching his cheek with the back of his hand. It’s hot to the touch.

He can feel something happening in his lap as well, a spreading heat that turns into a dampness that panics him. For a second, he’s worried he’s shit himself. There’s no smell of feces, however, just a bizarre leaking sensation. Ben nudges him, below the table, face concerned. Klaus wonders how flushed he looks.

“M-may I be excused?” He asks, head bent. He doesn’t know what is happening, but whatever it is, he doesn’t want it happening at the dinner table, in front of Dad and Luther and everybody else.

His father looks at him sharply, displeased at the rule-breaking, but something in what he sees must be cause for concern because he doesn’t snap at Klaus for speaking. Instead, he stares at Klaus for a long, uncomfortable moment, before his eyes close and his nostrils flare briefly.

“Grace, Pogo,” he says sharply, like he says everything, “get Number Four to the suite.”

“What’s wrong with Klaus?” Ben asks, getting to his feet as Mom and Pogo come over and help Klaus up. “What are you—”

“Silence, Number Six!” Reginald barks, stare so intense that Ben sits back down, head dropping. “This is none of your concern.”

Klaus stumbles as they lead him out of the room, legs feeling like jelly, and he barely glances back in time to see his siblings watching him with concern as he’s led away.

—

He doesn’t have many clear memories following that, just heat and fear and a desperate sense of arousal and loneliness, so strong it makes him scream and claw at the locked door of the set of rooms. These are rooms he’s never seen before, deep in an unused corner of the sprawling academy. He’s so alone. Some animal part of him knows it’s wrong, that he shouldn’t be alone, so he cries for his father, for his siblings, for anyone, until his voice is gone. He scratches at the door until his fingernails are broken and bloody.

He’s so empty, begging to be filled in a way he doesn’t understand, wet and hot and hollow.

—

Klaus is barely conscious when the storm of heat over him breaks, leaves him shaking and wrung-out, dehydrated and sore, curled into a miserable ball on the bed’s disgusting sheets. He clings to his mother when she comes in, uncaring that his filth gets all over her nice clothes. She strokes his sweaty hair, humming softly as she encourages him to drink a little lukewarm water.

“How long?” he croaks out, each word feeling like shards of glass in his throat. He can’t stop shivering. He feels like an exposed nerve.

“Three days,” Grace chirps, smoothing his hair back. He desperately needs a bath.

“What…” he swallows, ignoring the pain that causes, drinks another sip of water. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Grace says. “You’re just—”

“You are an omega, Number Four,” his father says, appearing in the doorway from the darkness of the hall. “You have presented.”

Dad had given them “The Talk” a couple of years ago, a strange mix of flowery, archaic terms and brutal, clinical examples that had left all seven children mostly confused about what it all meant. But Klaus remembers enough.

“I’m going to have a baby?” he yelps, attempting to sit up in surprise. His weak, shaky limbs refuse to hold him and he collapses back into Grace’s lap.

“No, silly, you can’t have a baby by yourself,” Grace says. “This just means your body can have a baby someday.” 

His father says nothing, just studies Klaus, like he is an experiment. Klaus wants to shrink away from that cold gaze, but he holds himself still. Running always just makes things worse.

“Take him and clean him up,” Reginald orders. “A day of rest tomorrow, then training resumes.” He turns on his heel and leaves as silently as he arrived.

—

Klaus expects things to be awkward when he returns to training, but someone must have lectured the others beforehand because no one says anything. They just cast curious glances his way when their father’s back is turned.

Ben shyly asks him about the experience that night after lights out, and his father calls him to the infirmary the following day and gives him an injection, but otherwise things go back to normal for almost two months.

They’re wrestling, one of Klaus’ least favorite training sessions. He loses to everyone and it always ends up with Luther and Diego fighting and Diego crying into Grace’s apron later in the kitchen.

He almost has Allison pinned when she whispers in his ear, “I heard a rumor you gave up and let me win” and he feels his limbs go weak. She pins him, crowing in triumph.

“Come on, that’s cheating,” he grumbles from the floor, panting.

“I adapted,” she says smugly, but she does help him to his feet, so he can’t really hold a grudge. If his stupid powers could help him beat the others in training, he’d probably use them too.

“Switch partners,” Reginald orders, standing to the side of the training room. His dutiful shadow Vanya lurks next to him, clutching a pad of paper and a pen, hair in her face. 

He gets Luther next, which at least means a quick loss and a chance to rest. Luther never holds back, and any bruises or sore muscles he gets from his loss will be worth the break while the others struggle.

He’s right. Luther takes him down brutally, and efficiently, after Vanya blows the whistle. He thumps Klaus down on the mat within seconds, pinning him.

Only, Luther doesn’t climb off after his win, doesn’t smile in triumph or scold Klaus for his technique. Luther stares down at him, eyes dark, fingers tightening around Klaus’ wrists and his breath coming in harsh bursts.

“Luther? You won. Let me up.”

Luther doesn’t respond, just keeps staring, breathing deeply through his nose before leaning down to press his face against the hollow of Klaus’ throat. There’s a strange pressure against Klaus’ hip that he realizes is Luther’s erection.

“Luther, what—” He struggles a little, tries to pull his arms free, and Luther growls at him like a dog, teeth clenched together.

“Number One!” Reginald barks, and usually Luther would leap to respond like the loyal hound he is, but he ignores their father, licks Klaus’ throat and rocks his hips. There’s a strange scent in the air, musky and spicy, that Klaus has never smelled before. He’s horrified to realize he can feel the beginnings of dampness between his legs, small licks of fire building in his belly. 

“Number One!” Reginald shouts again, but Luther is too far gone and Klaus can feel himself slipping along with him. He sees their father bark an order to Vanya and her scurry out of the room, but all he can focus on is the smell of Luther, the way he’s pressing Klaus into the mat, his wet mouth and sharp teeth at his tender throat. Klaus arches his back, lifts his hips up to meet Luther’s body.

Luther is torn from him roughly and Klaus whines at the loss, moans as Luther’s snarling, spitting body is restrained by Diego and Five. Ben and Allison are holding Klaus, preventing him from reaching out to Luther.

“Stop, stop,” Ben whispers in Klaus’ ear, but Klaus doesn’t care, he needs Luther and they’re ruining everything.

Mother comes in, holding a syringe, and Klaus sees Diego look away quickly to avoid swooning as she injects the clear liquid into Luther. Luther sags almost immediately, eyes hazy, mouth slack.

“Number Two, Number Five, get Number One to the suite,” Reginald orders, cane grasped in a furious, white-knuckled grip. “That sedative will not last long.” He glances at Klaus, being cradled by Ben and Allison, keening for Luther. “Bring Number Four as well.”

Klaus loses time as they bring him and Luther to the suite of rooms he suffered in only two months previously. He blinks and they’re there, Ben and Allison helping him lie on the bed as Luther is deposited next to him.

“No,” he moans, trying to stand. He remembers little of his time here, but enough to know he doesn’t want a repeat. 

His siblings look torn. Their father orders them back to practice, closing the door behind them and turning to face Klaus. “You are an omega, Number Four,” he says. “Do you know what that means?”

Klaus shakes his head, covering his face with his hands. The seat of his workout pants and the briefs beneath are soggy, uncomfortable, but he’s not about to strip them off in front of his father. His heat is building, slow and sluggish with the absence of Luther, but it’s coming and he’s not sure how much longer he can hold onto himself.

“Number One has presented as an alpha. That means he needs an omega to assist him through his rut. You must be that omega, for the good of the team,” Reginald says, voice brooking no argument.

Klaus can’t speak, words caught in his throat. His father leaves without another word, locking the door behind him. 

Klaus rolls over and presses his face to Luther’s shoulder, the familiar smell of him both a comfort and a torment. His heat, now with no conflicting scents in the room, is back to building at a fever pitch and he whines behind his teeth. His hands, acting as if without orders, begin to strip off his workout suit, shoving the wet track bottoms off, tugging the soggy briefs off with them. He’s so hot.

It’s not long before Luther stirs, rut and his own preternatural strength burning off the sedative at lightning speed. He groans, clutching his head before the scent and sounds of Klaus seem to reach him and he bolts upright, whipping his head around to face the heat-stricken omega on the bed next to him.

Klaus has gotten his workout jacket off and is struggling with his shirt, his last remaining piece of clothing, when Luther looms over him. He settles himself between Klaus’ legs, grabs his wrists with one hand, pinning him to the bed, and grabs the front of Klaus’ t-shirt with the other.

Luther presses his face to Klaus’ throat, resuming where he left off in the training room. He rolls his hips, pressing his clothed erection into the cleft of Klaus’ ass, and Klaus sobs, heat blooming in him like a wildfire.

“Please,” he gasps, not sure if he’s asking Luther to stop or continue. Maybe both. “Please.”

Luther bites at his throat and rips the shirt from Klaus when it gets in his way. It stings a little, the discomfort immediately swallowed by the wave of sensation as Luther moves his attention to Klaus’ chest, then his belly, then lower.

Klaus has never even kissed another person, let alone anything like this, and he’s overwhelmed, lost in Luther’s mouth on him, in him.

Luther fumbles with his own clothing, tearing it in his haste, and then he’s back on Klaus, hiking his hips up. He presses into Klaus and everything fades away in a wave of heat and pleasure.

—

After, when their urges are fulfilled — at least for now — Luther runs a bath and helps Klaus into it, climbing in after him. They each take an end, sitting with their legs pressed together.

Klaus is still shivering, coming down from the high of his orgasm. He can’t focus and drops the washcloth several times before Luther takes it from him. 

“Are you okay?” Luther asks, voice hoarse. “Did I—” He looks away, shame coloring his face. “Did I hurt you?”

“Mm,” Klaus hums, letting his head loll back against the rim of the tub. “Dunno.” He doesn’t think so, but everything is so floaty right now.

“I’m sorry,” Luther says, and he sounds so close to crying it breaks through Klaus’ afterglow. He lifts his head back up and, despite Luther having his head turned away, he can see the tears in Luther’s eyes. 

“What for?” Klaus asks. Sure, the bite stings, but he feels amazing, better than weed. He hasn’t seen a ghost in hours. Maybe the smell pushes them away.

“I should have been stronger, I should have— resisted, or something,” Luther says, voice soft and agonized. Klaus sighs.

“Luther, you’re an alpha. You couldn’t help it.” Klaus shrugs, trailing his hand through the water. There are bruises blooming on his wrists, his hips. The claiming bite, where his neck meets his shoulder, throbs. It probably needs to be bandaged. He smiles, hoping for comforting, but he’s pretty sure he misses the mark. “I’m an omega. This is what I’m for. At least I finally have some use to the team.”

“Don’t say that,” Luther says fiercely, sitting up so fast he sloshes water of the rim of the tub.

“Why not? I mean, my powers aren’t useful and I can’t fight. At least I can do this.” This is their father talking, and Klaus hates it, but he can’t stop himself from parroting Reginald’s words. After all, he’s not wrong.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re my brother. You’re part of the Academy. You’re not just…”

“A hole to breed?” Klaus says waspishly, crudely, and Luther flushes, but nods.

It’s stupid, but it makes something unclench inside of Klaus, spreads a warmth inside of him. It’s nice. “I’m sorry it was me,” he says.

Luther’s brow furls. “What do you mean?”

Now it’s Klaus’ turn to look away. “I’m sorry it was me, and not Allison.”

“Oh,” Luther says, sounding like the air got punched out of him. “Yeah. Um. It’s, it’s fine.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I mean, if it couldn’t be her… I’m glad it’s you.”

There’s that warm feeling again.

“Well, it could be worse,” Klaus says. “It could have been Diego instead of me.”

“Oh god,” Luther says, barking out a laugh. He leans back against the tub again, eyes crinkling with laughter. It’s a good look on him, Klaus thinks, better than the stern Number One face he puts on most of the time. “God no.”

Klaus doesn’t think he’s ever seen Luther this soft and open. Maybe he’s like this with Allison in private, but that’s a very privileged club to be part of, he thinks, and smiles to himself. 

—

Their heat-rut cycle burns itself out about 36 hours later. Klaus can feel the last wisps of heat fading as Luther has him on his back, legs over Luther’s shoulders. He can tell it’s fading for Luther as well, who is less frantic, rutting animal as he fucks Klaus, kissing instead of biting, holding him close instead of pinning him down. It’s nice, and Klaus clings to Luther as he comes, shaking with more than just exhaustion and orgasm.

Luther stays pressed flush to Klaus’ body, cradling him, breathing in the scent of Klaus’ hair. It gets uncomfortable after a couple of minutes, though, and he shifts upright, pulling Klaus into his lap to wait for the knot to shrink.

Klaus slumps against Luther, bone-tired, emotionally drained, confident that Luther will keep him cradled close. With the heat fully gone he can feel how sore he is, how grimy his skin feels, the hunger snarling in his belly.

“I could eat a horse,” he mumbles against Luther’s neck, and Luther huffs out a tired laugh. 

“Me too,” Luther sighs, bringing one hand up to stroke Klaus’ sweaty back. “I miss my bed.”

“God, yes,” Klaus grumbles. “I want a nap, away from you.” He pauses, kisses Luther’s shoulder in apology. “No offense.”

“None taken, I’m ready to be away from you too.” 

Klaus laughs in relief. He’s tired, sore, filthy and he knows he’s going to have some sort of freak out about this later, in the privacy of his own room, but he came out the other side of this mess in one piece.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Luther makes a curious noise. “For what?”

“My first time alone was horrible. I was so scared. It hurt so much. But this time was so much better. So… thanks.” 

He’s never been this emotionally open with Luther before and it scares him, that Luther will revert back to his usual self now that the hormones are gone, or tease him. But Luther just gives him a little squeeze.

“I’m glad.” He lets go, pulls back so he can see Klaus’ face. “You won’t have to go through it alone again, I promise.”

—

Things aren’t radically different after they bond. Luther is still a suck-up to their father, still follows his orders, the same old bossy Number One. He still moons after Allison, sneaking off with her when they think no one is looking. Klaus is still Klaus, still mostly useless at his powers and in training.

But Luther is softer with him now. Not soft, not indulgent, but _softer_. He smiles at Klaus’ antics more, is less annoyed and more concerned when Klaus comes to training or the dinner table stoned. He touches Klaus sometimes, passing him in the hall or during schoolwork, gentle fingers on the bare skin of his wrist or knee. 

Once, memorably, he touches Klaus under his shirt in the bathroom. Luther’s calloused fingers stroke his sides and belly, thumbing at his nipples, lips and teeth at his mouth and throat. It goes on for several minutes before a sound from outside spooks him and Luther withdraws, face burning. He storms out of the bathroom and Klaus is left speechless, cheeks flushed, mouth red and wet, dick hardening in his shorts.

For the most part, his dynamic doesn’t come into play much, especially not during missions. Sure, he’s the lookout, but he was the lookout before he was an omega. He doesn’t take it personally. 

During one mission, a simple bank robbery, Klaus is caught off-guard by one of the robbers. 

The man is an alpha, reeks of it, and to Klaus’ surprise, is apparently so distracted by finding a lone omega that he puts away his gun and instead decides to paw at Klaus. It’s weird and disconcerting, but gives Klaus the chance to overpower the creep, knocking him out with the kind of perfect form he can never manage to pull off in training.

“I finally do it, and no one’s here to see it,” he gripes, kicking the robber’s gun away.

Klaus doesn’t have anything else, so he uses his tie and the robber’s belt to bind his hands behind his back and waits for his siblings to find him.

Ben, as usual, is soaked in blood and viscera, but offers Klaus a thumbs-up, which is nice, and Reginald tells him he did an adequate job, which is high praise considering the kind of feedback he usually gets.

Luther, however, is quiet after the mission. He skips his usual seat in the car next to Allison in favor of sitting next to Klaus. This displaces Ben, who gives Luther an annoyed look before buckling in next to Allison.

Luther casually drapes his arm behind Klaus’ shoulders, which is a weird enough move that all their siblings, including Klaus himself, are giving Luther the side-eye, but Luther just stares out the window, hand pressed against the back of Klaus’ neck. His fingers are resting against the bite mark. It must be some kind of alpha bullshit, Klaus concludes. He spends the ride back to the academy sitting stiffly, not wanting to scare Luther off but not wanting to openly sink into his touch. That’s something they’ve both been avoiding.

They debrief with their father when they get home and Luther is visibly antsy, eyes straying to Klaus whenever Reginald isn’t looking. When they’re dismissed upstairs to change, Luther corrals Klaus into his room before Klaus can protest.

“Luther, what—”

“Take it off,” Luther snaps, tugging at Klaus’ uniform zipper. Klaus catches Luther’s hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks. Luther is flushed, anger simmering, sweat beading on his upper lip. “Are you okay?”

“Take it off, Klaus, get it off!” Luther yanks the zipper down so hard Klaus is pretty sure he’s broken it. “You smell like him.”

Oh, Klaus thinks. He stops struggling, lets Luther strip the leather suit from his shoulders. The undershirt he’s wearing underneath is sweaty and the shock of cool air feels good.

Luther seems content enough once the uniform is hanging loose around Klaus’ waist, drawing Klaus into his arms. He presses his face into Klaus’ neck, rubbing his sweat and scent onto the exposed skin.

“Gross,” Klaus complains, but he tolerates it. Luther is usually extremely good about keeping his alpha bullshit to a minimum, so this must be serious.

Luther stops after a bit, breathing slowly and deeply. It’s weird how normal this whole situation is. Unlike the incident in the bathroom, which left Klaus desperately jerking off on the toilet before he could join his siblings for lunch, this is… soothing. Comforting. Quiet.

It’s nice.


	2. Five

Other than the weird push-pull of his and Luther’s bond, Luther blowing hot and cold depending on how embarrassed of being an alpha he is on any given day, life again returns to normal for Klaus. 

Sure, Reginald no longer pairs him and Luther together for physical training (too many awkward boners and lingering stares, he guesses), and Allison is weird with him sometimes, but normal. For being a Hargreeves, at least.

It lasts a glorious three months before they come down to breakfast one morning to two surprises. One, Five isn’t there and, come to think of it, Klaus hasn’t seen him at all this morning. And two, their father _is_.

“Eat your breakfast quickly, Number Four,” Reginald orders. “You are needed.”

At first, Klaus is confused. Special training? Dad doesn’t usually take him to the mausoleum until nightfall. Then, Five’s absence and his summoning clicks. “Oh,” he says dully, sliding into his chair with a thud. 

Reginald nods sharply, setting his empty teacup down on the table and striding out, clearly unwilling to spend any more time around his children. It’s a relief for everyone, frankly. Everyone digs into their food, except Vanya, who is frowning glumly at her oatmeal like always, and Klaus, who suddenly isn’t hungry.

He picks up his spoon anyway, knowing he’ll need the energy. The oatmeal, sweet and creamy as always, lands in his stomach like cement.

Klaus can feel Luther’s eyes boring into him, the curious glances of everyone else, but he keeps his head bent over his bowl, choking down his food quickly. 

It’s gone too soon and he stands, feeling awkward. He’s not sure anyone but him and Luther realize what’s going on, so he just slinks out of the kitchen, heading for the suite. 

Luther catches him by the arm as he starts up the stairs, pulling Klaus around to face him. He cups his hand over the bite scar, just starting to fade from pink to white. “Klaus,” he says, voice somewhere between angry and hurt.

“Luther, come on,” Klaus says, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “This is weird enough already, please.” Please don’t make this worse, please don’t make me feel guilty, please don’t make me _think about this_.

Luther’s face is a study in possessiveness and pain, fondness and resignation. It’s too heavy a look for such a young face. Klaus leans over and kisses him, soft, reaching a hand up to comb through Luther’s hair.

Luther makes a hurt noise and his face crumbles. He clutches at Klaus and kisses back, passionate and desperate, in a way he hasn’t since that brief moment in the bathroom months ago.

It kills Klaus to pull away but he does, reluctantly. Five is waiting upstairs, maybe frightened, maybe in pain, and as much as he wants to be selfish and stay with Luther, he can’t. Five needs him. This is his role on the team.

He smiles at Luther, thin and watery. “I gotta go,” Klaus says, soft, and Luther clutches at him harder, then releases him. “Five’s waiting.” Luther nods, mouth pressed tightly shut, as if he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Klaus can feel Luther’s eyes on his back until he turns the corner and is out of sight.

—

Dad is waiting outside the suite door when Klaus arrives, face pinched at his tardiness. He doesn’t scold Klaus, however, just holds his hand out expectantly. “Take off your clothes.”

“What?” Klaus yelps, louder than he intends, and clutches at his blazer. “No!”

“You won’t need them in there, Number Four. Take off your uniform.” His face brooks no argument and Klaus slowly strips, face coloring in shame. His father looks neither interested or ashamed, simply impatient.

He hands the bundle of clothes to his father and stands in the hallway naked and shivering. It’s mortifying.

“This is your role as the team’s omega, Number Four,” his father warns, unlocking the door. “Do your duty.”

It’s the first time he’s entered the room under his own power, and the first time he goes in without being in heat. That will come soon enough, he knows, induced by Five’s rut, but right now he’s clear-headed and in control of himself.

He hates it. With Luther, they were on an even playing field. This is brutally unfair to both of them.

Five is sitting on the bed, leg bouncing. He’s also naked, sweat beading in his hairline and running down his temples. His head snaps up as the door opens, eyes locking on Klaus as he shuffles awkwardly into the room.

There’s pain etched into his face, pain and hunger and shame. He’s progressed pretty far into his rut and Klaus wonders why their father hadn’t come to get him earlier. “Hi, Five,” he says, keeping his hands cupped over his genitals, like it even matters, like he won’t be on his back with Five inside of him in a few minutes, whether either of them wants it or not.

“Klaus,” Five says, voice raspy, blown out. Klaus would bet he’s been screaming. Dad let it go too long, and Klaus can only wonder at the senseless cruelty of it. “Hurts.”

“I know,” Klaus says, sitting gingerly on the bed next to Five. He isn’t even in the beginning stages of heat, not at all ready for this. “I’m sorry.”

Five tracks his movement, shaking. He’s so far gone. This must have been what Klaus looked like, that first heat he spent in here alone.

He doesn’t know what to do. With Luther, he was far enough into his heat that instinct took over. Here, he’s clear-headed enough to know Five could serious hurt him unless his body gets with the program.

Klaus starts small, leaning over to kiss Five. He’s not sure if this is Five’s first kiss or not, and he finds himself desperately hoping Five had snuck off with someone, a fan or Vanya or Ben, and at least kissed them. 

Five is on him in a heartbeat, pressing him down into the bed with unnatural strength. He doesn’t kiss Klaus so much as attack him, light years from the gentle passion Luther kissed him with only minutes ago. 

It’s intense, frightening, but it’s good. Klaus sighs with relief into the kiss when he feels the first tendrils of heat unfurl deep in his belly. He breaks the kiss, pressing his nose against Five’s sweaty throat, breathing in his scent.

He’s not wet enough when Five enters him, hissing in pain, but he doesn’t think he’s bleeding. He closes his eyes and lets his growing heat take him over.

—

Five is different than Luther during his rut, rougher, sharp teeth and sharper tongue. It’s not bad though. Five is arrogant, sarcastic, impatient, and aware he’s usually the smartest one in the room, but he’s not mean. Once they get past that first desperate, painful knotting, Five calms down, taking control of the situation.

He’s methodical after that, sharp snaps of his hips, learning what makes Klaus fall apart and what makes him tense up. He takes Klaus apart with obvious, smug pleasure, smirking when Klaus shatters into an orgasm, gasping and crying, body shaking with how overwhelmed he is.

Five bites him on his collarbone, obnoxiously visible. It hurts more than Luther’s bite did, with the thinner skin and muscle, but Five is so obviously pleased with it that Klaus rides through the pain, eyes squeezed shut.

—

If Klaus thought he was tired after his time with Luther, he’s destroyed when Five’s rut ends. They’re in the tub for their last mating. Five is bending him over the rim, splashing water on the tile floor and swamping the bathmat. Klaus can barely hold his head up he’s so tired and emotionally frayed, but Five’s arms hold him securely as he drives Klaus to a final orgasm. Klaus is crying by the end of it, exhaustion and discomfort warring with how good it still is, even now.

“I’ve got you,” Five rasps, voice destroyed, as he knots one last time with Klaus, skinny body shaking with fatigue. He’s worn thin, exhaustion visible on his face. “I’ve got you.”

They curl up on the bed once they separate, bone-tired, unwilling to part just yet and face the rest of their family. “I’m sorry,” Five murmurs into the side of Klaus’ neck.

“For what?”

“It’ll be better next time, I promise. I won’t hurt you next time.” There’s real regret in Five’s voice, sounding young and vulnerable for once, and Klaus bites back any sarcasm that might have been about to come out of his mouth.

“Mm, can’t wait,” he says instead, starting to drift off. He feels Five smile against the skin of this throat as he falls asleep.

—

There is no next time.

Less than a month after they mate, Five gets into an argument with their father at dinner about time travel. He storms out of the house, ignoring the pleading looks from Klaus and Vanya.

He never comes home.

The bite on Klaus’ collarbone hasn’t even finished scarring yet.


	3. interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of scenes that take place before Five time travels to the future, but didn't fit in chapter two.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented, kudos'd or read my fic! I was extremely nervous about posting it, and the positive feedback has been wonderful.

After he and Five leave the suite and part ways, Klaus showers and collapses into his bed without even bothering to dress. He sleeps deeply, not even the ghosts keeping him awake.

He wakes to the feeling of someone stroking his hair and humming tunelessly. At first, Klaus thinks _Mom_ , but Mom doesn’t have a scent, nothing human behind her soft floral perfume. This person does, a familiar one, warm and spicy, comforting.

“Luther,” he mumbles, cracking one eye open. 

Luther smiles. “Hi,” he says softly, stroking Klaus’ jaw with his thumb. “How are you?”

“Tired.” Klaus is so tired, sore, sick of being touched, way too sober.

Luther shifts up to his knees, leaning over him to press a kiss to Klaus’ slack mouth. He withdraws after a second, wrinkling his nose. “You reek like him,” Luther complains. 

Klaus rolls his eyes. “Well, Five did just spend two days fucking me.” He’s not in the mood for this.

Luther sits back, face full of hurt and jealousy. “Don’t,” he snaps, spitting the word like it hurts in his mouth. _Don’t say his name, don’t talk about someone else touching you, don’t talk about how you’re not only mine anymore._ He doesn’t have to say any of it out loud for Klaus to understand.

Klaus just closes his eyes again, rolling over with his back to Luther. He feels Luther’s hand rest on the knobs of his spine, between his shoulder blades, then smooth down his back. He’s torn between how nice it feels and wanting to scream at yet another person touching his body.

He knows he could yell at Luther to stop, and Luther would. He could kick Luther out of his room, and Luther would go. But he’d sulk about it. He’d fume and snarl at Five in the halls and go after him during training. He’d run to Allison. It could wreck whatever fragile thing is growing between himself and Luther.

Instead, Klaus sighs and sucks it up. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he sort-of means it. “I’m just… all touched out.”

Luther surprises him by pulling away and sitting back on the floor, resting his head on the edge of the mattress. “Yeah, I get that,” he says, and Klaus isn’t sure he really does, but he appreciates it anyway. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” And, you know, it kind of is. “Can you just… be here with me? And not touch me?”

“I can do that,” Luther says, soft and gentle, the way he talks to scared kids during missions.

Klaus falls back to sleep listening to Luther humming, helping to drown out the muttering of the dead.

—

At first, it’s like they never bonded at all. Five continues to spend much of his free time with Vanya and Ben, or studying alone. They all eat together, train together, and study together without Five paying him any more attention than he ever did.

It’s a little disconcerting, but also kind of refreshing. Klaus is still trying to figure out what is going on between him and Luther. Adding Five to the mix would be exhausting.

It’s almost three weeks after they bond that Five ends up cornering Klaus in the bathroom, jumping in as Klaus is about to step into the tub.

Klaus yelps, reaching for his towel to cover himself before remembering that Five has absolutely seen him naked before and probably doesn’t care. Instead, he presses his hand to his chest, feeling his rapidly beating heart.

“Christ, Five, don’t _do_ that,” he complains, sitting on the rim of the tub.

“Sorry,” Five says, sounding anything but. He’s leaning against the sink, hands in his pockets, nonchalant. What an asshole, Klaus thinks fondly.

“What do you want? I locked the door for a reason, you know.”

“I need to talk to you. Privately.”

Klaus sighs, shifting. Sitting on the tub isn’t exactly comfortable. “You couldn’t just knock on my bedroom door?”

“That’s not private.” Five’s eyes shift down briefly, glancing at Klaus’ bare legs, his dick, then flick up to his collarbone. Five’s claim is healing well there, scab beginning to flake off to reveal a shiny new pink scar. He takes a deep, shaky breath, like he’s collecting himself, then drags his eyes back to Klaus’ face. “There are no cameras in here.”

“So? It’s not like it’s a secret we’re bonded. I think Dad knows.” He rolls his eyes, turning to climb into the tub. Five grabs his arm and yanks him back.

“You think I don’t know about whatever is going on between you and Luther?” Five snaps, giving his arm a shake. “You think _Dad_ doesn’t know?” His eyes burn into Klaus. “You think he won’t find a way to use that against you?”

Klaus shivers. Five’s words are like a block of ice in his stomach. “What am I supposed to do?”

Five releases Klaus’ arm, running his hand up his shoulder and lightly touching the healing bite mark on his collarbone. “Just… be careful,” he says. His other hand comes to rest high on Klaus’ thigh, hesitant. “You’re walking a dangerous line between Luther’s feelings for you and his loyalty to Dad.”

“You worry too much,” Klaus says, voice trembling. 

“Someone has to,” Five replies, but he smiles at Klaus, squeezing his thigh before backing off. “Your bath is going to go cold.”

Klaus slides into the water, which is now cooler than he prefers but not uncomfortably so. Five watches him, biting his lip, before shaking his head and smiling again. He reaches over and strokes his thumb over the healing bite.

“Klaus. Don’t think _this_ doesn’t mean anything to me, just because I don't show it. It does. _You_ do.” Five cups his face, leans over the tub and kisses him, deep and wet. It’s good, good enough to make Klaus’ legs weak and he moans, grips the tub to keep upright. His dick stirs, interested.

Five pulls back, smirking. “Enjoy your bath,” he says, vanishing in a flash of blue.

Klaus slumps back against the tub, mouth wet, dick hard and aching. “Oh, that asshole,” he says, laughing, and takes himself in hand.


	4. Aftermath

When a week passes and Five doesn’t come back, Dad declares him lost. He commissions a huge oil painting to be hung over the fireplace in the library. It’s not a memorial, they understand, but a warning: this is what happens when you disobey me.

Klaus can hear Vanya crying through their shared bedroom wall at night, great gulping sobs like her heart is broken. Like she’s lost the only friend she had in the world. Which, honestly, she has.

He can’t sleep. Instead, he lays in bed with his fingers touching the new scar on his collarbone, eyes dry. He saves his tears for the sanctity of the bathroom and finds himself breaking down on the toilet or in the bathtub, hand pressed over his mouth so no one hears.

Five’s memory is now a weapon for their father to wield against them, and Klaus is not going to give him any more ammunition.

Vanya comes to him one night, eyes swollen, cheeks flushed from crying. She creeps into his room and crawls into bed with him. They’ve never been close, but he scoots over and lets her curl under his arm, pressed against his side.

She doesn’t say anything for a long time, just the occasional sniffle or shaky breath, and Klaus thinks maybe she’s fallen asleep before she finally speaks in her small, quiet voice.

“Is he dead?”

It’s the question he’s been getting from everyone, Dad included. Honestly, he doesn’t know.

“I haven’t seen him,” he answers truthfully. 

She lifts her head a little and he turns his to meet her eyes, barely illuminated by the streetlights glowing through the break in the curtains. “But you’d know, right?” she asks, giving a wet sniffle that makes Klaus want to get up and find her a tissue. “You’d _know_.”

Vanya’s eyes glance at his collarbone, hidden under the top of his pajamas. He’s not sure when she saw where Five’s claim was. Maybe Five told her before he vanished. 

“It’s not— it’s not like that.” How can he possibly explain the bond to someone who hasn’t presented yet, when he barely understands it himself? “It’s not like we’re psychically linked or anything. I can’t feel their feelings or read their minds.”

“But it would tell you if he was dead, right?”

He shrugs. “It’s more about emotions, I think. Like it draws us to each other. I can’t use it to find Luther in the house or anything. It just… I dunno, ties us together.”

She sniffs, and Klaus thinks she’s about to start crying again when she lays her hand on his pajama top, right over where the scar is. “If he was dead… wouldn’t you have felt it break?” She sits up, pressing harder on his scar. “If he was dead, you’d have felt it.”

His breath catches in his throat for a second. Had he felt anything? He’s devastated, does that count? Does crying in the bathroom until he threw up mean the bond was broken and Five was dead? Does not wanting to get out of bed in the morning, not wanting to eat, wanting to be so stoned he couldn’t even remember who he was, let alone Five?

“I don’t know,” he whispers, voice cracking. Vanya laces her fingers with his, squeezing his hand. 

—

A month after Five disappears, Dad decides the official Umbrella Academy mourning period is over. He returns them to going on missions, with strict orders to answer no questions about Five.

It’s strange, going in a man down, and they end up with several minor injuries due to not acting as a well-oiled machine. After, Reginald lectures them on their sloppy conduct as Mom bandages Diego’s broken wrist and Pogo stitches up a cut on Luther’s forehead. Klaus stares out the window, not listening. He was only the lookout anyway.

Later, he curls up on his bed, staring blankly at the wall. He still feels hollow inside, like he’s just going through the motions. He eats what Mom puts in front of him, puts minimal effort into his training and schoolwork. He can tell Dad is losing his patience.

There’s a soft knock at the door, and it opens before Klaus can say anything. “Klaus?”

It’s Luther. Luther, who has been conspicuously absent since Five disappeared. “What do you want?” he says, draping his arm over his eyes.

He can hear shuffling, as if Luther is waffling about coming in, then footsteps across the floor. Luther sits on the bed, jostling Klaus. “Are you okay?”

Klaus lets out a hysterical giggle, because he’s so far from okay he can’t even see okay anymore. “Oh, I’m peachy,” he says, letting his arm drop. 

Luther’s not laughing. He looks almost scared. He reaches over, strokes Klaus’ cheek. There’s a worry line between his eyebrows. “Klaus…”

“For someone who’s been avoiding me for a month, you seem awfully worried about me,” Klaus says, aiming to hurt. Luther flinches and he knows he hit his mark.

“Dad said… I should give you some space.” Luther stares at the floor, looking like a chastised child.

Of course he did, Klaus thinks. Five’s warning flashes into his mind. _You think he won’t find a way to use it against you?_ “Why come now then, if Daddy Dearest said no?”

“I was worried about you. You’ve haven’t been yourself, since Five…” Luther trails off, staring at his feet. “I miss him too, you know.”

Klaus snorts. “You don’t get it.”

“He was my brother too, Klaus,” Luther says, wounded, and Klaus wants to scream.

“You don’t _get it_ , Luther!” he almost screams, sitting upright, face only inches from Luther’s own. “He’s my bondmate. My _alpha_. I didn’t just lose a brother, I lost a part of myself.” He’s starting to cry now, voice thick with grief. “I’ll never get that part of me back.”

Luther doesn’t say anything, frozen with shock. Klaus shoves him, furious and devastated and so completely, utterly alone. It’s like a dam inside of him has finally broken and he can’t stop everything from flooding out.

“How would you feel if— if the next mission we had, someone shot me in the head and I died, huh? Me, gone in a heartbeat, forever.” He fists the fabric of Luther’s sweater vest, giving him a little shake. “What then?”

Luther stares back at him, the confusion and shock on his face giving way to something closer to understanding. “I’d kill them,” he whispers, voice trembling. 

“I’d still be gone, Luther. As much as I appreciate the thought, that hole inside of you where our bond once was would still be there.” Klaus’ anger is draining out of him, leaving him tired, too tired to be anything but honest. “And even if you took another omega, it wouldn’t heal the wound our bond left.”

He reaches up, cradling Luther’s devastated face in his hands. “Having you doesn’t fix what losing Five did to me. It never can. But I need you. I _needed_ you.”

Luther’s crying now too, tears dripping down his cheeks as he covers Klaus’ hands with his own. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Klaus closes the gap between them and kisses him, soft, more comfort than passion. It’s not a good kiss, but it’s what he wants right now. “Please don’t leave me alone again,” Klaus murmurs against Luther’s jaw, pressing his mouth there, then Luther’s cheekbone, then lightly over the bandage covering the stitches on his forehead.

“I promise,” Luther sobs, clinging to Klaus, and Klaus holds him close, lets Luther weep against him.

He doesn’t think Luther can keep that promise, but it’s a start.

—

It’s like starting their dance all over again after that, except Klaus is the one pursuing and Luther the hesitant. Luther is doting, almost clingy at times, but doesn’t seem to be willing to make any move on Klaus without Klaus initiating it.

He’s the one sneaking soft touches as they pass in the hallway, eat breakfast or get ready for training. He’s the one pulling Luther into the bathroom or into dark corners the cameras don’t cover. Luther soaks the attention up like a sponge. 

It doesn’t fix the hole left inside of him by Five, but it helps him cope. He tries to expand himself beyond Luther, spending more time with Ben and Diego, complimenting Vanya on her growing music skills.

He’s so focused on climbing out of the emotional chasm he’s been in for the past couple of months that he forgets Luther’s cycle until Dad stops him after training and redirects him to the infirmary. 

Mom’s running a workup on him while Reginald prepares a familiar injection— his birth control. “Number Four, perhaps you have been so involved in your pointless moping that you have lost track of the days,” Dad says, measuring out a dose. Klaus grits his teeth in anger, but doesn’t say anything. Reginald is just trying to provoke him, he tells himself. He knows Klaus is gaining ground in the tug-of-war over Luther’s devotion and he hates it. Don’t give him what he wants.

The injection goes into his arm, a pinprick of pain then a lingering ache. It’s one Klaus is glad to deal with, though. At least it means Dad isn’t interested in breeding Klaus yet. He supposes it would look bad if one of Reginald Hargreeves’ teenage children turned up pregnant.

“Within the week, Number One will enter rut,” Dad continues, and _shit_. He’s right. It’s been about six months since the day Luther mounted him in the training room.

Klaus closes his eyes, head dropping. He’s not ready for this. It’s too soon after Five, too soon since he and Luther started working their way back to each other. 

It’s not _fair_.


	5. Round Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. Thank you everyone for your patience and your support. It means a lot to me!

At least they have a warning this time. The next time Klaus passes Luther in the hallway, he pulls him into the bathroom.

Luther comes with him eagerly, pinning Klaus against the sink as soon as the door is closed. Klaus forgets himself for a moment and lets Luther kiss him before pulling back. “How are you feeling?”

Luther laughs, pressing himself against Klaus. “Pretty good, now,” he says. Klaus rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean, do you feel weird or anything?” Luther looks at him, clearly not getting it. “You’re going to go into rut again soon. Like, a few days soon.”

“Oh,” Luther says, pulling back. “Has it really been that long?” He pauses, as if taking stock of himself. “I don’t _think_ I feel like rut.”

Klaus nods. “Just come find me if you start feeling weird. Maybe we can get on top of this thing instead of being caught off guard again.”

Luther nods, making his thinking-face. “But won’t Dad just tell us when it’s time?”

There’s no possible way Klaus can tell Luther, Number One himself, _I think Dad is a sadist who will make us both suffer to get scientific data._ That will never go over well. Instead, he shrugs and tries to look innocent. “I dunno. I mean, Dad’s a _beta_ , what does he know about ruts and heats? I think it’d be better if you learned to read your own body.”

“Okay,” Luther says, not looking totally convinced, but Klaus thinks he’ll listen. He smiles and rewards Luther with a kiss, lets Luther slide a hand around to cup his ass. 

—

Three days later, Luther catches his arm while they’re heading down to breakfast. There’s a bead of sweat on his temple. “I feel weird.”

Klaus exhales. “Okay, head up to the suite. I’ll go let someone know what’s going on.” He squeezes Luther’s hand, then heads down to breakfast. 

He hopes it’s Mom he runs into, or even Pogo, but he turns a corner and nearly collides with his father. “Number Four,” his father says, visibly annoyed. “You are late for breakfast.”

_Shit._ “I was looking for you,” he says, which is of course a lie and they both know it, but Klaus is pretty sure Reginald won’t call him on it. “Luther’s rut is starting. I came to let you know we’re going to the suite.”

Reginald’s hand tightens almost imperceptibly on his cane. Klaus keeps his face blank. “I see,” Reginald says.

“I figured it was better not to take any chances like last time, so I sent him ahead.” This is a dangerous game he’s playing, but Klaus can’t deny that he’s enjoying getting one up on his father, even over something as small as this.

Reginald breathes deeply through his nose, eyes closed, mouth tight. He’s so very visibly holding back anger that Klaus can’t help but shrink the tiniest bit. “Good thinking, Number Four,” he finally says, sounding like the words have been dragged from him unwillingly. “Perhaps there is something other than bestial lust in your head after all.”

Klaus can’t completely suppress his flinch. Christ, he doesn’t expect anything better from his father and that hurt. If Luther heard Dad say something like that, it would destroy him.

Reginald stares at him with disinterest, then strides off in the direction of the suite, seemingly trusting Klaus to follow obediently. It rankles him to do so, but he falls in step with his father, head tucked down. He’s pushed far enough for today.

They walk in an uncomfortable silence, Klaus’ stomach feeling heavier with every step, and pause outside the suite door. Reginald turns to Klaus, face stern as always.

“Your uniform, Number Four.”

Klaus freezes, breath catching in his throat, then begins undressing. There’s no point in arguing, though he’d hoped to spare himself this humiliation. 

It shouldn’t matter. He and Luther have mated before. It won’t be the first time Luther has seen him naked. He finishes stripping, hands the clothes to his father, and waits. It’s chilly in the hallway, and he can’t help but shiver standing there.  
His father watches him, studying him like an experiment, before opening the door. “Do your duty, Number Four,” he says.

Klaus steps inside, arms wrapped around himself. He’s barely cleared the doorway before Reginald closes the door behind him. He hears the lock click faintly.

Luther isn’t in the room when he scans it, and for a second he panics, before he hears the toilet flush and the sink turn on. Klaus pads over to the bed but doesn’t sit. 

“Klaus?” Luther calls from the bathroom as the sink turns off. “That you?” He steps out and stops. “Klaus, you’re, uh.” Luther flushes, staring suddenly at his socked feet. He’s shed his blazer as well as his shoes.

Klaus glances down at himself, resisting the urge to try and cover up. It’s nothing Luther hasn’t seen before, and it’s nothing special anyway. Skinny body, soft cock limp between his legs. Scars on his arms and legs from training. A large bruise on his thigh, mostly healed to smears of yellow and green, where Diego kicked him during hand-to-hand lessons.

“Dad took them,” he says. “He said I don’t need them in here.”

Luther looks bothered by that, but drops it when Klaus steps closer. “How are you feeling? Are you close?” Klaus asks. Luther seems normal, but he’s sweating by his hairline.

Luther licks his lips nervously. “Close,” he says, voice huskier than usual. “I think. It’s hard to tell. I don’t remember much about how it felt the first time.”

He steps closer to Klaus and rests one hand on Klaus’ hip, stroking the bare skin there. He places his other on Klaus’ chest. “Are _you_ okay?”

Klaus closes the distance between them, pressing up against Luther’s front with a boldness that surprises even himself. Luther makes a noise, somewhere between surprise and a groan. “I _will be_ ,” he says, “If you take your clothes off, so I’m not the only one standing here like an idiot.”

“Trust me, you don’t look like an idiot,” Luther says, but he smiles and steps back, pulling his sweater vest over his head.

Klaus grins, sitting on the bed. “You can leave the socks on though.”

Luther throws the sweater vest at Klaus’ face in response and Klaus laughs, feeling weirdly light and giddy. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re going into this with eyes wide open, together, or maybe his body is just reacting to the beginnings of Luther’s rut. Whatever it is, he feels good, like when he gets his hands on particularly good weed, or those little pills that guy slipped him once after a mission.

Luther’s methodical about stripping his clothes off, sweater vest, shirt, undershirt, socks. He pulls his shorts and briefs down in one go, bending over to step out of them and pick them up. While he’s looking down, Klaus leans back on his elbows and lets his legs fall apart.

The choked sound and wide eyes he gets in response when Luther looks back up is worth any embarrassment he went through. Luther doesn’t bother to neatly fold his shorts and underwear like he did his other clothes, just kicks them aside and steps into the vee of Klaus’ legs.

“Hi,” Klaus says, feeling very smug. Luther leans down to kiss him and Klaus meets him halfway, putting all his weight on one elbow so he can clasp the back of Luther’s head with the other.

Luther hikes Klaus’ hips up after a few minutes of kissing, gets him laid out on the bed so he can climb on top of him. There’s something deeply satisfying about what they’re doing, kissing together in bed, naked, waiting for Luther’s rut. Klaus wonders if this is what it’s like for couples who bond out of love.

—

Klaus collapses against Luther’s chest, hands frantically clutching at his back and shoulders. His orgasm rips through him like a punch to the gut. Even after two days of mating, it still feels like his first.

Luther leans back against the headboard, holding Klaus tightly against him as he knots, panting wetly in Klaus’ ear. He cradles Klaus as they wait for his knot to deflate, stroking his sweat-slicked back and trading lazy kisses. “I think we’re getting pretty good at this,” Luther says, laughing.

“What, fucking?” Klaus asks, leaning back to look Luther in the face.

Luther rolls his eyes, a mixture of annoyed and fondness that was becoming pretty common whenever he was around Klaus. “If you want to be crude about it,” he says, sounding faintly scandalized.

Klaus just laughs and kisses Luther’s blushing face. “Your dick is literally inside of me right now, Luther. I _think_ it’s okay to say we fuck.”

Luther laughs and pinches Klaus’ side. “Why do I even like you,” he laments.

“You like me?” Klaus teases, but inside he’s glowing. Warmth blooms in his chest. He smacks a kiss on Luther’s cheek obnoxiously. “You _like_ me!”

Luther rolls his eyes again and looks away, blush staining his cheeks and face so fond it almost hurts to look at. “Obviously,” he says, pulling Klaus close to his chest again.

Klaus doesn’t say anything else, just tucks his face into the crook of Luther’s neck and smiles to himself.

—

When they come out of the bathroom after cleaning up, Mom is waiting for them in the suite with clean pajamas and a plate full of sandwiches and fruit that they fall upon like ravenous animals while she cheerfully strips the sheets, seemingly uncaring about how sweat- and come-stained they are.

Wrapped in a towel, bruises on his neck and hips, rug burn on his knees and forearms, Klaus pauses in eating his third ham sandwich to slide his foot over to nudge Luther’s. Luther glances up, cheeks stuffed with sandwich like a hamster.

“I like you too,” he says quietly, smiling, then throwing his head back with laughter when Luther turns bright red and nearly chokes on his mouthful of food.

—

Clean, dressed and fed, it’s time to face the real world again. “Guess that’s it,” he says, glancing back at the suite their mother is cleaning. 

“You were right,” Luther says as he lets the door close behind him, pitching himself and Klaus into the near-darkness of the hallway.

“I mean, I usually am, but about what?” Klaus says, laughing as Luther elbows him. “Ow, Luther, be gentle!”

“That I should learn to read my own body. It was a lot less… you know, this time.”

“Scary? Intense? Painful?” Klaus suggests, and Luther winces, but nods.

All he really wants to do is nap and spend time alone, but Klaus kisses Luther’s cheek as a reward. Baby steps, but he’s _winning_. Take that Dad, you old bastard, Klaus thinks.

He lets Luther hold his hand all the way to their bedrooms.


	6. 14

Their 14th birthday is more somber than most. While their previous birthdays have never been particularly raucous, this is the first birthday they celebrate as six, not seven. 

Five’s empty chair has never seemed so vacant than it does this morning, the only chair without a cupcake in front of it. Vanya is on the verge of tears, looking pointedly away from it, and Klaus feels a lump in his throat. 

Mom moves smoothly around the table, lighting the single candle on each cupcake. “Happy birthday, children,” she says cheerily. The six of them smile wanly back at her.

“Thanks, Mom,” Diego says, and the others echo him. 

Birthdays mean a cupcake with a candle, a present from their father (always useful, never something frivolous like toys or candy or money) and, perhaps the most important thing, the entire day off. Other than Christmas, it is their only holiday from training.

The cupcakes come with breakfast, something Reginald disapproves of but permits only because it means he does not have to tolerate birthday frivolity at the dinner table. He rarely eats any meal but dinner with the children, preferring to take his breakfast and lunch meals in his office.

That means they’re free to eat their cupcakes alongside their eggs and bacon (a special breakfast for a special day, Mom had said as she served them). Klaus licks chocolate buttercream off his thumb as he watches Vanya eat her cupcake, her eyes fixed on Five’s empty seat at the table.

He wishes he were closer to her seat so he could nudge her and let her know he understands, but she’s at the far end of the table. Instead, he redirects his attention to Luther, who is eagerly beginning to read his present, a ponderously thick tome on military strategy, while scarfing his cupcake in two bites. He sucks the frosting from his fingers absently and Klaus bites his lower lip, feeling something stir within him at the sight.

He’s jarred out of his staring when Ben kicks him under the table. Klaus suppresses a yelp and turns to glare at Ben, who just gives him a flat look that says “really?” before going back to reading a battered paperback copy of Slaughterhouse Five. Ben’s birthday present, another thick, leather-bound book, lies abandoned to his side. Klaus isn’t sure what the book’s on, but Ben’s sour face when he unwrapped it tells volumes.

Klaus sulks, finishing his cupcake and wiping his hands on a napkin before standing. “Well, happy birthday,” he says brightly, much happier than he feels. “Don’t have too much fun without me.” 

Luther looks up from his book as Klaus leaves the table and Klaus raises his eyebrows at him, smiling. “I’ll be in my room if you need me,” he says, waving a hand in a vague goodbye and heading back up to his room.

He’s probably got some time before Luther comes up after him, so Klaus strips off his blazer and sweater vest, kicks off his shoes and perches by the window. He smokes a joint he rolled this morning, luxuriously slow, enjoying as the high comes over him and the ghosts recede. 

“Happy birthday to me,” he says, squinting into the autumn sunlight. He tosses it out the window when he’s done, fanning the air to help clear the smell from his small bedroom. The weed he got this time wasn’t very strong, but it’s left him nicely relaxed and he flops on his bed, contemplating a nap.

He rolls over and bumps the book Reginald got him for his birthday, some thick, dry treatise on 19th-century spiritualists and rolls his eyes, tossing it onto his bedside table.

—

It’s maybe an hour after breakfast when he hears the tentative knock on his door. “Come in,” he calls lazily, grinning when Luther pops his head around the door.

“Hey,” Luther says, nose wrinkling at the faint smell of marijuana still lingering in the room. “Ugh, are you high?”

“Only a little,” Klaus says, sitting up and patting the bed next to him. Luther looks at him judgmentally and Klaus sighs. “Come on, Luther, it’s our birthday. Lighten up!”

Luther purses his lips but shuts the door behind him anyway, sitting next to Klaus. He reaches out and links his hand with Klaus’, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Klaus’ mouth.

Klaus kisses back, pulling Luther in close, cupping the back of his head. He presses Luther back onto the bed, kneeling over him as they make out.

They kiss for a long time, languid at first, then more fevered as arousal grows. Klaus pulls back, panting. “I have a birthday present for you,” he says, moving down the bed.

“For me?” Luther asks, starting to sit up on his elbows. Klaus smiles wide, all teeth and shiny eyes.

“You’ll like it,” he says with confidence he doesn’t feel, and starts unfastening the fly of Luther’s shorts.

“What are you— Klaus!” Luther yelps, as Klaus gets Luther’s shorts open and carefully pulls his dick out of his briefs. Luther is half-hard from kissing and grinding and growing fast in Klaus’ hand.

Other than their two times sharing Luther’s rut, which don’t count since instinct and hormones ran the show then, they’ve mostly stuck to kissing and touching over clothes. A couple of times, when they were feeling bold and had enough time, they’d exchanged quick, sloppy handjobs in the bathroom.

Now, Klaus strokes Luther’s dick before lowering his mouth to it and taking it in. Luther squeaks, an almost comical sound, and if Klaus wasn’t concentrating so hard on keeping his teeth away from the sensitive flesh he’d laugh.

He’s never done this before, only read about it in books and seen pictures in a porn magazine he and Ben had found in the alley next to their house a couple of years ago, but Klaus thinks he gets how to give a blowjob. It can’t be that difficult.

Klaus is intimately acquainted with how big Luther is, but it’s different somehow in his mouth and he almost chokes when Luther bucks his hips, one hand pressed over his mouth to stifle a moan. Unlike the suite, the kids’ bedrooms aren’t soundproofed.

He loosely grips the base of Luther’s dick with one hand and uses his mouth on the rest, free hand splayed on Luther’s abdomen under his shirt.

It’s way more difficult that he thought it would be. It’s hard to breathe and suck at the same time and he’s more focused on not scraping Luther’s dick with his teeth than he is anything else, but going by the way Luther is whimpering and almost _writhing_ , he doesn’t seem to care.

“Klaus,” Luther moans, breathing heavy. He snakes a hand down to rest gently on Klaus’ hair. “Oh my god, I’m gonna—”

Klaus’ mouth is flooded with spurts of come, one-two-three, salty and bitter and musky. It’s not especially pleasant, but he swallows with a little difficulty, licks Luther’s dick clean. 

Luther lies in the bed panting, arm over his eyes. He looks _shattered_. “Enjoy your present?” Klaus asks, smug. He wipes his mouth and crawls up Luther’s body, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Luther doesn’t respond at first, still catching his breath. He’s quiet long enough to Klaus to begin to worry. “Luther?”

“That was— oh my god, Klaus,” Luther pants, but he’s smiling, body almost boneless, and Klaus relaxes. “Holy shit.”

Luther kisses him, hungry, and Klaus surges up against him, so hard it aches. Luther cups his erection over his shorts and Klaus hisses, letting his head fall back. “Yes,” he groans, hands scrabbling at Luther. “Please.”

“Lay back,” Luther says eagerly, getting up on his knees. He tucks himself back into his underwear, doing up his shorts before kneeling over Klaus’ legs in a very familiar position.

“Luther, you don’t have to—” Klaus says, words dying in his throat as Luther starts to undo his shorts. 

“I want to,” Luther says, working Klaus’ shorts and briefs down his legs. He feels weird, in just his button-up shirt and knee socks, but then Luther has Klaus’ legs up over his shoulders and his mouth on Klaus’ cock and he can’t think of anything.

Luther really doesn’t know what he’s doing, not that Klaus did either. He scrapes his teeth against Klaus’ dick a couple of times. He gags when Klaus gets too into it and bucks his hips.

It’s pretty much the best thing Klaus has ever felt. He’s bunched up against the headboard awkwardly, socked heels drumming against Luther’s back as Luther bobs his head in the vee of Klaus’ thighs, making wet, choked noises as he works. 

Klaus is almost crying it feels so good, hand pressed to his mouth, swallowing the little noises he keeps making. He almost doesn’t notice the door open, but the movement catches his eye and before he can do anything there’s Allison.

Whatever she was saying dies in her throat and she stands, frozen, hand on the doorknob and the other on the jamb. 

Allison, who sometimes paints Klaus’ nails and his eyes and lets him put on her skirts. Allison, who once used her power to make Klaus throw up every time he tried to speak for a whole day because she was annoyed at him.

Allison, who liked Luther first, who had him before biology and Dad came along and bound Klaus and Luther together.

He should say something. He should stop Luther, who hasn’t noticed the door and is still enthusiastically sucking Klaus’ dick.

He doesn’t. Instead, some shitty, selfish part of himself takes over and he _smiles_ at Allison, cold and smug and filthy. He lets himself moan, bucks his hips up to make Luther make those choked, wet noises in his throat.

Golden-boy Luther, Dad’s perfect soldier, Allison’s fairy-tale prince, on his belly in Klaus’ bed, with Klaus’ dick down his throat.

Luther gets his hand under Klaus, presses a finger to his asshole and Klaus realizes he’s _wet_ , slick beginning to drip. He’s not in heat but he’s still wet and Luther slides his finger inside and that does it. Klaus sees stars, throws his head back and comes with a pained cry, muscles tensing as the orgasm shakes his body.

Before his eyes close, he sees Allison’s face _crumble_ , devastation and disbelief and pure, white-hot anger. 

When he comes back to himself, body twitching in aftershock, Luther crawls up his body and presses himself to Klaus. His mouth is swollen, red and his eyes are watery, but he looks happy.

Klaus glances over at the door. It’s shut, like Allison was never there.

—

Klaus naps indulgently after, basking in the late-afternoon sunshine and the comedown of a really, really good orgasm and the lingering traces of his high. It’s dark when he wakes and he barely has enough time to shower and throw on his clothes before making it to dinner.

He’s late, only a minute, but Dad glares at him nonetheless. “Sorry, I overslept,” he apologizes, standing behind his seat.

“You are fortunate it is your birthday and I am a forgiving man,” Reginald says, which is the biggest bunch of bullshit ever, but okay. “It is rude and selfish to make others wait to eat because you could not be bothered to get up when Number Three woke you earlier.”

Allison certainly had _not_ come in to wake him, Klaus is about to argue, but he glances at her and the look on her face, cold and smug, and gets it. _Oh_ , he thinks, slinking into his seat. Well, he doesn’t blame her.

Luther, completely in the dark, glances at him over the pot roast and blushes, smiling into his bite of mashed potatoes. Klaus can’t help but smile back, ignoring the guilty pit in his stomach.

—

He thinks about apologizing to her, hovers outside her closed door after lights out, hand raised to knock. He lets his hand fall without knocking. What the hell is he supposed to say to her? _Sorry Allison, I’m a jealous shithead who apparently can’t stand the fact that you like Luther? That maybe he still likes you?_

It doesn’t help that Luther’s bedroom is next door, through one thin wall. If he’s going to have this conversation with Allison, it won’t be where Luther can hear.

Instead, he turns and sneaks down the stairs toward the kitchen. It’s late enough that Dad should be in bed and Mom recharging, but you never know about Pogo. He stashed a bottle of Dad’s liquor down here and hopefully, Mom didn’t find it.

He retrieves it from its hiding place and heads to the backdoor. Getting drunk in the courtyard sounds like a nice way to top off his birthday.

There’s a light on in the kitchen and Klaus freezes for a second. Is it Mom? Pogo? He peeks in.

It’s Vanya, in her pajamas and slippers. She’s making, of all things, a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich.

“Vanya?” Klaus asks, coming into the room, and she jumps, knife clattering to the table. “What are you doing?”

“You scared me!” she says, retrieving the knife and finishing off the sandwich. “I’m…” she trails off. “You’ll think I’m dumb.”

“I promise, I won’t,” he says. _I’ve already crushed one sister today. I won’t hurt both_.

“I’m… every night, I leave the lights on and make Five a sandwich, in case he comes home,” she says, speaking to the table, and Klaus’ heart clenches.

“I-I-I worry, if he comes back and the house is dark, he’ll think we’re gone,” she continues, shoulders shaking like she’s about to cry. Klaus sets the bottle on the table and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“I don’t think that’s dumb,” he says, face pressed to her hair. “I think it’s wonderful.”

She twists out of his arms to look up at him, face stunned. Her eyes are red and wet. “You do?”

He pulls up a chair next to her and sits, taking one of her hands in his. It’s sticky with marshmallows and peanut butter, small, calloused from playing the violin. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who misses him,” he says, and he lets his other hand settle briefly on his collarbone before dropping to the table. “But then I see you and I know there’s someone else.”

Vanya drops her head, covers her face with her free hand and sobs. “I miss him so _much_ ,” she says through tears. Klaus squeezes her hand and lets her cry. “He didn’t even get a _cupcake_ , it’s like he never even existed.”

“I have an idea,” he says, standing. Vanya looks up at him, face red and blotchy from crying. “I’ll be right back! Stay here!”

He runs upstairs as quietly as he can, fishes his lighter from its hiding place and returns to the kitchen. Vanya is still at the table, looking small and lost.

He digs around in the junk drawer in the kitchen and comes up with a birthday candle. “Grab your sandwich for him,” Klaus says, snagging his bottle of liquor off the table and heading outside.

Vanya follows him, plate in hand and they sit on a bench in the courtyard, shivering in the chilly autumn air. Klaus motions Vanya to hand him the plate and he places the birthday candle into the sandwich with a flourish. “Ta-da,” he says, and Vanya gives him a confused smile. “Okay, it’s not a cupcake, but I don’t think Five would mind.”

“Oh, Klaus,” Vanya says, voice wobbly. He lights the candle and they watch it burn in silence, the wax dripping onto the bread.

“Happy birthday Five,” Klaus says softly, squeezing Vanya’s hand. “Wherever you are.”

They sit in the courtyard, sharing the bottle of Bailey’s between them until the candle burns to nothing.


	7. Allison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience with me! This one turned out long, so I hope you enjoy it. Also, thank you for your kudos and comments. They mean so much to me!
> 
> ###### 

Ben and Vanya present as betas only three weeks apart. Ben laughs and tells Klaus it’s a relief.

“I’m just glad I don’t have to get involved in your soap opera alpha-omega love triangle bullshit,” he says to Klaus, who throws a pillow at him and replies that Ben is just consoling himself that he’ll never get to tap this ass. Ben fakes vomiting and they both collapse onto Klaus’ bed laughing.

It’s honestly a relief for Klaus as well. Things are so weird with Allison right now he can’t deal with another alpha or omega in the mix. _He_ doesn’t want to be involved in his soap opera alpha-omega love triangle bullshit.

Vanya, however, is quietly devastated when she comes down to breakfast three weeks later, looking the same but carrying the clean, fresh scent of a beta.

She stares at her shoes while Reginald curtly dismisses her as an _ordinary_ beta, eats her oatmeal even slower and sadder than usual.

He pulls her into his room later on. “What’s wrong?” he asks, sitting on his bed and patting the mattress next to him.

She sits, leaning against him. “I don’t want to be a beta,” she says, almost a whisper. “I’m so tired of being ordinary.”

He just can’t understand that. Being ordinary sounds _amazing_. “I’ll trade you,” he says. “I’d love to be ordinary.”

Vanya pulls back from him, face radiating hurt. “Of course _you_ don’t understand,” she says, voice hard. “You’ll never get it. None of you will.” She stands, pushing his beseeching hands away and storms out of his room.

“Christ,” he says, flopping back onto the bed. “Forget it.”

He hears her start playing violin, angry scratching, and he sighs. Part of him wants to go and apologize, but another part of him says, _screw her. What does she know? I’d give_ anything _to be ordinary like her_.

—

The weird thing is, Allison isn’t openly aggressive. She’s not _mean_ to him. She hasn’t tripped him on the stairs during training, or destroyed any of his stuff, or ratted him out for stealing Dad’s liquor. She hasn’t rumored him to do anything dangerous or degrading or embarrassing. She even lets him borrow her makeup and nail polish still.

But she’s _weird_ around him. It feels like she’s always _watching_ him. When he’s goofing around with Ben or Diego, she’s watching him, face blank. When he and Vanya are tiptoeing around each other’s sore spots, trying to find common ground over memories of Five or Vanya’s music, she’s passing by in the hallway, glancing in the door.

But mostly, she seems to be watching him and Luther. Whatever she feels about them, she hides it well behind a trained mask (and if she’s as upset about them as Klaus thinks she is, she’ll do great in Hollywood, if she ever makes that dream come true).  
There’s nothing Klaus can do about her, so he just tries to ignore her. If she wants to watch him, she can have an eyeful. It’s a weird, uncomfortable standoff, but Klaus isn’t willing to make the first move so he just… lives with it. 

If she’s spying on him and Luther, she certainly has a lot of opportunities. Luther has come out of his shell again since their birthday, taking the lead in pulling Klaus into the bathroom or into one of the mansion’s many disused rooms to fool around. 

Their 14th year passes without much fuss. He and Luther get through Luther’s two ruts with increasing confidence and an almost suspicious lack of interest from Reginald.

They go on a number of missions, all of which have Klaus serving as the disinterested lookout. He doesn’t understand why he even has to go, honestly. He’s so useless he might as well stay home with Vanya.

Klaus drinks, smokes weed, and experiments with other things he can get his hands on, ecstasy and acid, other pills that make him feel dreamy and disconnected. It’s great. 

His heat grants him complete freedom from seeing or hearing ghosts, which is a major upside to being an omega, but that’s only a couple times a year. The rest of the time he has to rely on drugs. Klaus doesn’t know why heat works that way (altering his brain chemistry, maybe? He’s sure as hell not going to tell Dad, who will want to run experiments), but he can at least partially replicate the effect by being high.

Luther hates it, gets a hurt, constipated look on his face whenever he realizes Klaus is “under the influence.” Talking about it causes arguments, so Klaus just pretends he doesn’t see Luther’s hurt, and Luther eventually stops bringing it up with him.

—

It’s about two weeks before their 15th birthday when Luther pulls away from him while they’re making out on Luther’s bed to say, “I think Allison is mad at me.”

It takes Klaus a second to catch up to the sudden conversation, but he forces his mind away from his hard dick and the way Luther’s weight feels on top of him. “What do you mean?”

“She’s been...weird,” Luther says, brow furrowed. “For awhile, really, but… I don’t know. Recently, I guess. She always looks like she wants to say something, but then she doesn’t. Or she asks something about training that she already knows.”

How to say, _she’s still into you and you broke her heart when you bonded with me_? Klaus doesn’t want to hurt Luther, but he doesn’t want to lie, either.

“Luther... “ he says, pushing on Luther’s chest. Luther sits up, letting Klaus lean against the headboard. Luther lounges between Klaus’ legs instead, resting his head on Klaus’ thigh. Christ, Klaus’ boner is _killing_ him. Fucking Allison, a cockblock even when she’s not here. “Are you and Allison still… together?”

Luther blinks. “Together?”

“Luther, come on. We all know you and Allison had a thing for each other,” Klaus says, and Luther flushes, embarrassed.

“Everyone knows?” He squeaks.

Klaus runs his fingers through Luther’s hair in apology. “Well, suspected, I guess. We never like, _talked_ about it. Okay, Ben and I have, but I’m just guessing for the others.”

Luther groans and buries his face in Klaus’ thigh, way too close to his still semi-hard dick for a conversation like this.

“No,” Luther says, speaking into Klaus’ leg. “We haven’t, not since…” He glances up at Klaus’ throat.

“Oh,” Klaus says, touching the scar through his shirt. “Why?”

Luther rolls his head enough to look at Klaus in the face. He looks somewhere between stunned and betrayed. “Because I had _you_ ,” he says. “Because… I don’t know. I guess, I realized it didn’t feel the same. It wouldn’t have been right to do that to either of you.”

 _Oh_ , Klaus thinks, feeling himself get choked up. _Oh, Luther_. Christ, Klaus doesn’t deserve him.

“Did you ever... _talk_ to Allison about this?” He asks, as sensitively as he can. “Maybe that’s why she’s being weird.” Luther shrugs. 

“What do I even say? It’s been so long and she’s been completely normal about it,” Luther complains. His chin digs painfully into the meat of Klaus’ thigh. “I guess I don’t get why all of a sudden she’s mad again.”

Honestly, Klaus doesn’t know either. It’s been nearly two years since he and Luther bonded and almost a year since Allison walked in on them (which Luther still doesn’t know about and Klaus hopes he never will). The time to be mad about losing Luther was ages ago. Why now?

—

Their 15th birthday is a little less somber than their last, though everyone does still glance at Five’s empty place at the table and Vanya spends all of breakfast looking like she’s on the brink of tears.

They get their cupcakes and presents (nice wool overcoats and matching scarves, practical but boring) and their day off. They play a furious game of Monopoly that they don’t finish because Luther and Diego almost come to blows over Luther’s hotel on Park Place and they knock the board to the floor (good, Klaus was losing anyway). He and Luther steal away in the late afternoon to make out and exchange sloppy blowjobs in the attic. 

He comes down late at night, bottle of liquor in hand, and shares it with Vanya while they watch Five’s birthday candle burn down on a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich.

All in all, it’s a pretty decent birthday, especially because Reginald is holed up in his office all day and only appears for dinner.

—

Several months later, Klaus is woken out of a sound sleep by Pogo.

“Master Klaus, you must come with me,” he says, shaking his shoulder with an apologetic look on his face. “Wake up, Master Klaus.”

Klaus blinks groggily. He’s been nursing badly bruised ribs for the past few days, thanks to a training mission gone wrong, and Mom had given him some painkillers before bed to help him sleep.

“Pogo?” he asks, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“You are needed, Master Klaus,” Pogo says, holding up Klaus’ robe to help him put it on. “Please put on your robe and slippers, it’s quite chilly tonight.”

Klaus gets out of bed and wobbles on his feet, room spinning. He’s so _tired_ and whatever Mom gave him was amazing, because he doesn’t feel anything. His legs feel like jello and Pogo reaches out with his free hand to steady him.

“Careful, Master Klaus. Can you walk on your own, or should I get Grace?”

Klaus tries to think through the fog of medication and exhaustion. “I think I’m okay, if we go slow,” he says, yawning hugely as he struggles to slide his bare feet into his slippers. Pogo’s right; it’s always chilly in the house but it’s absolutely freezing in the late January air.

They make their way slowly and quietly through the halls, careful not to wake any of his slumbering siblings. It takes Klaus longer than it should to realize they’re heading toward the part of the house the suite is in.

“It’s too early for Luther’s rut,” he says absently, head muzzy, as they shuffle along. Luther had _just_ had his rut three weeks ago; there’s no way he can be in rut again unless something has gone terribly wrong.

Pogo doesn’t say anything, just guides him along the dark corridors until they reach the door to the suite. His father is waiting there, face pinched. 

“My apologies, sir,” Pogo says, letting go of Klaus’ arm. “Master Klaus is a little under the weather tonight.”

Reginald glares at Klaus and Pogo must take that as his cue, because he turns and starts walking away, cane clicking as he goes. “Poisoning yourself, Number Four?” he asks.

“Mom gave it to me,” Klaus says groggily. “My ribs hurt too much to sleep otherwise.”

“You’ll have to fulfill your duties anyway. Clothes off.”

Klaus, who is barely standing on his own two feet, looks at his father with disbelief. “It’s freezing,” he says, clutching his robe closer to his chest.

“Nonsense,” his father scoffs. “Why feign modesty, when you are here to be bred? You’ll just soil your clothing if you wear it inside. Undress yourself.”

Klaus knows he isn’t winning this battle so he starts disrobing, shivering in the frigid air. He has to use the wall to keep himself upright as he takes off his pajamas pants and briefs, he’s so shaky on his feet.

“Who is it?” he asks as he leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor. If his father wants him naked, he can just pick up Klaus’ shit by himself.

Reginald ignores him and opens the door, pushing Klaus in with the tip of his cane. “Do your duty, Number Four.”

It’s not Luther on the bed in an early rut, but _Allison_. She’s shivering, sweat beading on her face. She looks like she’s been crying.

Klaus stands awkwardly by the door, now locked behind him. He’s cold and exposed and he’s so damn tired. He’s not in any shape, physically or emotionally, to deal with this. “Allison?”

She startles at his voice, looking at him with furious, devastated eyes. She makes a surprised noise at his nudity, then snarls, “Stay away from me.”

“Okay,” he says, thrown off guard. He sits in one of the armchairs, across the room from the bed, curling up in it, knees to his chest.

“Don’t touch me,” she says, sounding panicked and angry. “I don’t want this. I don’t want _you_.”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, the painkillers in his system already dragging him back under. “I don’t want this either. Deal with it yourself.”

—

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps, dead to the world, just that when he wakes, his ribs are throbbing and he’s so fucking _hot_. His heat, by sheer proximity to Allison, has stolen over him during his drugged sleep. He squirms uncomfortably, realizing he’s soaked the chair he’s sitting it, then hisses as his ribs shift painfully.

“Fuck,” he says, pressing his hand to his ribs. The bruising is spectacular, deep blues and purples and blacks, spanning almost his entire left side from armpit to navel, just beginning to fade on the edges. It hurts to breathe, to move.

Allison is sobbing on the bed, curled up in a miserable ball. Her hands claw at the bed, teeth bared. She has to be in _agony_ by now.

“Allison,” he says, wincing at the pain in his side. “ _Allison_.”

“Go away,” she gasps, glaring at him through the tangle of her hair. “I don’t need you.”

He rolls his eyes and forces himself upright and out of the chair, even though the movement hurts so much it makes his vision temporarily go gray. “All you’re doing is making yourself suffer,” he says. He breathes deeply through his nose as he waits for the cresting wave of pain to recede a tolerable level. 

She doesn’t say anything, just sobs again, body jerking. He risks lowering himself onto the edge of the bed, still out of reach, hopefully far enough away that she won’t feel threatened. In this state, she could seriously hurt him if she wanted.

“I’m sorry,” he says, staring down at his lap. His thighs are wet and his dick is semi-soft with heat arousal. “I know you don’t want me, and I’m not interested in you. But we don’t have a choice, unless you want to spend the next two days in complete agony. I’ve done it before, and I don’t ever want to do it again.”

Allison doesn’t respond, but she also doesn’t attack him. It’s a good sign, he thinks. She shudders through what he guesses is another wave of pain and he reaches over to stroke her hair.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Allison says, voice very small. “It isn’t _fair_. I was so _sure_.”

Klaus brushes her hair out of her eyes, tucks it behind her ear. Her eyes are very red and wet, swollen from crying. She’s got snot on her face and he wishes he had a handkerchief or tissue to give her. “What are you talking about?”

Allison bats his hand away and forces herself up into a sitting position, still hunched over in pain. “I was going to— I was so _sure_ — and he was going to love me again,” she says, burying her face into her hands and sobbing. “The bond would make him love me like it did with you.”

It takes Klaus a minute to untangle that. “Oh, Allison,” he says, heart breaking for her. No wonder presenting as an alpha and being forced to bond with Klaus was her nightmare, if she’d been so certain she would be an omega. “I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t risk touching her again but he sits with her, lets her cry herself out. The pain of his unfulfilled heat is growing, drowning out the pain in his ribs, but he’s got to let her make the first move. He’s survived this once before. He can do it again if it means Allison will be okay.

She cries for what feels like hours but is probably more like minutes. Her crying slowly tapers off into hitched breathing and winces of pain. Allison stands, barely, and walks into the bathroom with hunched, pained movements. Klaus hears her blow her nose and the splashing of the sink before she reemerges. She’s taken her pajamas off.

“I don’t want this,” she says again, voice husky from crying. “You don’t want this. But…” she looks away miserably, folding her arms over her breasts, “I want the pain to stop. I can’t… it hurts, I want it to stop.”

Klaus holds his hand out to her and she steps forward, grabs it with her own. He squeezes it. “Let me help,” he says.

She pushes him back onto the bed, helps him get settled flat on his back. He winces in pain has he moves. “Klaus, your ribs,” she says, touching the bruise lightly. 

“It’s fine,” he says, though it’s really not. “Just be gentle.”

—

It’s different with a girl. Klaus wasn’t sure what to expect, despite sitting through that awkward anatomy lesson so long ago. Female alphas don’t have dicks, it turns out, which makes how dripping wet his ass is a bit of a waste.

Allison straddles his hips and rides him, holding his wrists to the mattress, toes pressed against the sides of his thighs. He doesn’t want this with her but he can’t deny that she’s beautiful, fierce and wild above him. If nothing else, it confirms his suspicion that he’s just into girls as he is boys, watching her breasts bounce in time with her movements, the way her face looks as her pleasure builds, her narrow waist and flared hips.

She clamps down on his dick when she comes, some sort of internal pressure— like a knot, he guesses— holding him inside of her, milking his own orgasm out of him. His ribs are screaming in agony but he comes anyway, pain and ecstasy mixing into one confusing, overwhelming experience.

Allison bites him on his chest, just below the collarbone, sharp teeth digging into the skin and muscle. It’s a good location, easily hidden and private, but it _hurts_.

The sex is good but there’s no romance to it, no frantic kissing like with Luther or Five, no need to touch. It’s… friendly, maybe, is the word. It’s different but it’s not bad, and Klaus hopes Allison isn’t miserable, that they can be friends again after this.

—

Allison tries to be gentle but by the end of their cycle Klaus is clearly in agony, struggling to breathe at times. The bruising looks worse and he’s pale, dark circles under his eyes and strained smiles.

“I’m sorry,” she says as they part for the last time. “I think we made it worse.”

Klaus is sure of it. He thinks a rib might be cracked. “Don’t worry,” he says, smiling, though Allison’s face says she doesn’t buy it for a second. “It’ll heal. I’ll be fine.”

She pats his leg and heads to the bathroom to shower. It’s interesting. Now that his heat is gone, Klaus looks at her and sees only his sister again, not someone he wants to have sex with. She’s beautiful, of course, but the desire, the pang between his legs he feels when he sees Luther training, shirt off or soaked in sweat, is absent.

He showers quickly when she's done, before soaking in a steaming hot bath, letting the hot water soothe the throbbing in his side. His dick hurts a little, he realizes, tender from being squeezed by Allison’s internal knot. 

When he emerges from the bathroom, drying himself with a towel, Allison is already gone. Mom is there, waiting with clean pajamas and painkillers.

—

One rib is slightly cracked, he finds out, but it’s nothing serious, nothing bed rest and pain medication can’t handle. He spends several days post-heat sleeping, blissfully drugged. He wakes a couple of times to find Luther curled up on the bed next to him, reading a book or napping with him and though Klaus is too groggy to do anything but smile blearily at him, it’s nice.

Once his ribs are on the mend and Mom tapers down his painkillers, he’s capable of having a conversation. “Are things okay with you and Allison?” he asks Luther, who is laying next to him on the bed, carding his fingers through Klaus’ hair.

“I guess?” Luther says, sounding ambivalent. “I mean, she’s not being weird anymore. She just seems sad.”

“Yeah,” Klaus says, thinking of their conversation, how devastated she had been to have her dreams crushed. “Give her time. I think she’ll be okay.”

“Are _you_ okay?” Luther asks. “Do you need more pills? Water?”

“I think I want to get up,” Klaus says. “I’m tired of being in bed.”

—

Allison comes to him later that night, after they’re all supposed to be asleep. Klaus, having slept so much earlier today, is lying awake, enjoying the peaceful silence the pain medication brings with the suppression of his powers.

She doesn’t say anything, just sits on his bed, looking at him seriously. “Allison? What is—”

Allison kisses him, firmly, hand fisted in his pajama top. It’s not a sexy kiss. It’s like, well, it’s like kissing your sister, Klaus thinks, and makes a disconcerted noise.

She pulls away after a few seconds, clearly upset. “I don’t feel anything,” she says.

“Feel what?” Klaus says, wiping his mouth. Allison does the same.

“We’re bonded now,” she says, touching his chest, where her bite is healing under a gauze pad. “The bond should make me love you. But I don’t. Not like _that_. I love you like I always did, as my brother.”

“So?”

She looks at him, tears in her eyes. “All this time, I’ve thought— I thought the bond made him love you. That you _stole_ him from me with it.” She swallows. “But I don’t feel anything. It hasn’t changed how I feel about you.”

“Allison,” he says, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. She sobs quietly, shoulders shaking.

“All this time I blamed you, when it was really me who wasn’t enough. I’m _sorry_ , Klaus.”

“Me too,” he says, sorry for the way he’s treated her, for that stunt with Luther on their birthday, for the heartbreak she’s experiencing that he can’t do anything about. All he can do is sit with her and let her grieve.


	8. An Argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long. I wrote and re-wrote this chapter endlessly, trying to figure out where I wanted it to go. Where it ended up wasn't what I expected, but that's what it wanted, so who am I to argue?
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented or left kudos. It always gives me a thrill to get the notification!

Things between him and Allison, and Allison and Luther, don’t go back to normal right away. Allison needs time to grieve, to come to terms with her new reality.

It gets better slowly but steadily. Luther and Allison disappear into the attic one afternoon several weeks after her rut ends and though Klaus doesn’t pry into what they talked about, the tears drying on both their cheeks and the hug they share when they come down speaks volumes.

Things are easier after that between them all. While Luther and Allison may never have that romantic connection again, it’s clear Luther appreciates having his best friend back.

Klaus is happy for them both. If nothing else, it means he feels less guilty spending time with Ben. Training runs smoother now, Luther and Allison getting back in sync with each other.

He knows things are okay between them when Allison starts using him to wind Luther up. It’s always _so dumb_ , rubbing her scent on Klaus before shoving him over to Luther or strategically cradling Klaus in her arms when Luther walks by. Klaus always ends up cracking up, laughing helplessly as Allison manhandles him. Luther is confused and possessive the first time, almost snapping at Allison, but he gets the joke quickly and turns it into a weird game between the two alphas, with Klaus the soft, squirmy, giggling ball being passed between the two.

Ben’s happy that Klaus is happy, because it means they can spend more time hanging out and less time with Ben comforting Klaus while he rants or tries not to cry. Vanya’s never happy, so nothing changes there.

The odd man out is Diego, the only one who hasn’t presented. It’s been an issue for a long time, to be honest— since Luther presented as an alpha. Klaus doesn’t know if it’s jealousy, or insecurity, or what, but Diego is so obviously bothered by his status.

It’s not even that he’s a particularly late bloomer— if anything, Klaus and Luther and Five were extremely _early_ bloomers, going by what Klaus has read and the scents of other teenagers he encounters out on missions. It seems like most people don’t present until 16 or 17, some even later, so Diego is right on schedule. 

Klaus doesn’t know why the rest of them presented so early— maybe their powers, maybe the unusual circumstances of their births. He doesn’t really care that much. But Diego _does_ , he cares _very_ much, and it’s both annoying and sad.

It comes in waves. Diego’s obvious jealousy and anxiousness comes to the surface when a sibling presents and tamps down in between. With Allison’s presentation as an alpha Diego is back to stalking around the mansion, alternating between looking like a kicked puppy and a serial killer. He practices alone, separating himself from the group, or hangs in the back of the pack, glaring daggers at Luther.

Klaus likes Diego, but he’s _so_ incredibly sensitive about his unpresented status any conversation with him is like taking a stroll in a minefield. He just doesn’t bother unless necessary.

—

Everything is a pissing contest between Luther and Diego these days. Well, it’s _been_ a contest since Klaus can remember, but it’s worse than ever lately. It feels like every training session turns into a shoving match or a fistfight, with the others having to drag them apart and Dad’s endless lecturing— or worse, calling them into his office for “private discussions.” Klaus has seen both of them limp out of his office too many times, eyes red and wet, marks from Dad’s cane showing on the strips of skin between their shorts and their knee socks.

“You shouldn’t let Diego get under your skin,” Klaus says to Luther, after the latest “private discussion.” Luther is laying on his front on his bed, clothes in a pile on the floor, but there’s nothing sexy happening. Instead, Klaus is carefully rubbing cream into the welts on Luther’s thighs and ass, already edging from red to black and blue.

Luther hisses as Klaus touches a particularly deep welt. “Then he should shut up about things he doesn’t understand,” he mutters, hands curled into his comforter. 

They’d had a mission today, something relatively simple— another bank robbery. Luther and Diego’s attempts to one-up each other had gotten out of hand, however, and resulted in a hostage being seriously injured, Allison needing stitches, and several of the robbers escaping with the money.

Luther and Diego had _screamed_ at each other when they realized the robbers were gone, harsh words that turned into a fistfight. He and Ben had pulled them apart, abandoning the injured hostage and bleeding Allison to do so.

Reginald had been _furious_ and the press had had a field day, snapping photos and filming. They’d be lucky if the hostage didn’t sue the academy, Dad had shouted in the car. 

Allison would be fine, just a deep slice on her arm where Diego had winged her by accident when he distractedly threw a knife while fighting with Luther. The hostage would probably be okay, he’d heard on the television in the parlor, but might lose his leg.  
“Things weren’t okay today,” Klaus says, twisting the lid back on the jar of cream and wiping his hands on a tissue. “None of that should have happened. You’re supposed to be the _leader_ , Luther—”

“God, not you too,” Luther snaps, turning on his side. He winces as his skin moves and stretches, welts touching the bed. “I already got one lecture today.”

“What even started that shit, then?”

Luther sighs, looking past Klaus at the floor. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s always something stupid, Luther,” Klaus says, unkindly, but he softens his words by reaching out and rubbing Luther’s hip, carefully avoiding the welts.

“He’s always running his stupid mouth, saying I’m a shitty number one and stuff.”

“Yeah, but Diego’s been saying that since we could talk, why is it bothering you now?” There’s enough room for Klaus to lay down with Luther so he does, touching his knees to Luther’s, head propped up on his arm.

Luther presses his lips together, mouth a thin line. “It’s so dumb,” he says, like he’s warning Klaus, who rolls his eyes.

“Just tell me.”

“He’s been saying stuff, like I’m a shitty, weak alpha to you and when he’s your alpha, he’ll keep you in line,” Luther says, face burning with embarrassment. “Keep you on your knees and stuff like that.”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Klaus says, sitting upright in his shock. “I’m gonna kick his ass myself.”

“Klaus, no,” Luther says, catching his arm, wincing at the pain the movement brings. “I don’t want you getting in trouble too.”

“He can’t just _say_ shit like that!” That’s _deeply_ uncool. Klaus didn’t think Diego was such a caveman. “Diego’s been reading too much creepy omega porn.”

Luther looks confused. “Reading _what_?” Klaus just pats his sweet, innocent face.

“Ugh,” Klaus says, slumping down onto his side again. “Why is Diego being so— ugh, please, don’t fight with him anymore.” He strokes Luther’s side, feather-light, trying not to hurt him. “I don’t like seeing you this way.”

“I’ll try, but if he says anything about you…” 

Klaus kisses him softly. “Let me talk to him, okay? I promise I’ll only hit him a little.” Luther laughs at that, wincing in discomfort. “Hey, try and get some sleep, okay? I’ll wake you for dinner.”

—

He leaves Luther dozing on the bed and stalks down the hall, past Allison’s empty room (she must still be in the infirmary) and knocks on Diego’s door.

“What?” Diego calls sulkily. Klaus takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, and opens the door.

He shuts it behind himself and leans against it. Diego is curled on his bed, looking miserable. He looks up and seems surprised to see Klaus.

“Klaus? What do you—”

“You want to put me in my place, huh?” he asks, and boy is that way more aggressive than he meant to be. “Keep me on my knees?”

Diego flushes, red staining his cheeks and neck. “Klaus, don’t—”

“I’d like to see you fucking _try_ ,” Klaus snarls. “Maybe when your balls drop, if they ever do.”

Diego jumps to his feet, despite how much pain his must be in from the caning. “F-fuck you, Klaus.” he says, face red with anger now, not just shame, clenching his fists. 

“How could you even _say_ something like that about me? Is that what you _really_ think of me, some brainless slut that needs a big strong knothead to tell me what to do? Christ, Diego, I thought you were better than that.”

“No! It’s not, I don’t—”

“How do you know you’ll be an alpha, huh? Oh, it’d be _rich_ to see you as an omega.” He shoves Diego, who staggers back before catching his balance. “I hope you are. Then _you_ can feel what it’s like to have someone on top of you, hoping your ass isn’t bleeding because they couldn’t wait for you to be ready, knowing everyone _knows_ you’re getting fucked and you can’t do anything about it.” Klaus is crying now, not hard, but tears leak out of his eyes and his chest hitches as he gets more and more worked up. “ _Fuck_ you, I hope you—”

“Stop, Klaus, stop!” Diego shouts, pulling him into his arms and holding on tight despite Klaus’ struggles.

“Why would you even say shit like that?” Klaus shoves at Diego, who holds him firm. Klaus doesn’t relent though, struggles until Diego finally lets him free and he retreats to the closed door. “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?”

Diego doesn’t respond, just crosses his arms and stares at the floor. Klaus rolls his eyes, makes a disgusted scoff.

“Whatever, I don’t even know why I’m trying to speak to a _child_ ,” he says, voice hard, lip curling, and that’s such a shitty, unfair thing to say he can’t believe he even said it out loud. He’s still crying, nose getting snotty and his voice shaking with how angry he is, how wretched he feels being an asshole to Diego, even after what Diego’s said about him.

Diego is in his face in a flash, punches the door right next to Klaus’ head. They’re the same height, eye-to-eye, but Klaus has never been more acutely aware than he is right now how Diego has bulked up while Klaus is all leg and slender torso. 

“Fuck you,” Diego hisses, so close Klaus can his angry hot breath on his face. “You all think you’re so special, like you’re better than me. It’s not _fair_.” He’s pressed against Klaus, pinning him to the door. “Why does Luther always get to be first?”

“ _I_ was first,” Klaus says, contemplating driving his knee into Diego’s crotch. “If you remember.”

Diego snorts, like Klaus doesn’t count. “Number One, of course, the first alpha. It should have been _me_ first!” He touches his hand to Klaus’ chest, then brushes his fingers against Klaus’ neck, where the edge of Luther’s claim peeks out through his shirt collar. “That should be _mine_.”

He looks at Klaus fiercely, dark eyes burning, and Klaus barely has time to think _what the fuck is even happening_ before Diego is kissing him, too-wet and inexperienced.

Klaus freezes in shock, unable to even breathe, then shoves at Diego when he feels his tongue in his mouth. He gets his knee up and into Diego’s balls. The angle is bad, barely glancing his crotch, but it’s enough to get Diego to spring back.

“ _Shit_ ,” Diego moans in pain, cupping his dick. Klaus is frozen for another second, mouth open, then he fumbles for the doorknob, gets the door open an inch before Diego slams it shut. His weight against Klaus pins him to the door again.

“Get off me,” Klaus says, voice faintly hysterical. “Get _off_ me!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Diego begs, mouth against Klaus’ ear. “Don’t go.”

“Diego, if you don’t get off me _right now_ , I’m screaming for Luther,” Klaus warns, voice shaking, and Diego reluctantly moves away, sitting with a wince on his bed. Klaus wants to run, lock himself in his room, but he just turns around and sinks to the floor, leaning back against the door. His legs are shaking too much to hold him anymore.

Diego, for his part, looks equal parts defiant and ashamed, hands fidgeting, like he wishes he was holding one of his knives. “Please don’t go,” he says again, voice small. “I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

“What, you shit-talking me then _attacking_ me?” Klaus hisses, curling his knees to his chest.

Diego shakes his head. “It’s not _fair_ ,” he says again. “Luther’s always first. He gets _everything_.”

“I’m not a prize Luther won by presenting before you,” Klaus snaps. How long has Diego felt like this? How had he _missed_ this? “Christ, Diego, I’m a person and I have feelings. I’m not just a hole for you to rut in.”

“It’s not _like that_ ,” Diego protests. “Don’t be gross, I don’t think that.”

Klaus raises an eyebrow. “So you _don’t_ want to keep me on my knees?” Diego flushes again, looks at his hands, and Klaus barks out a laugh. “So what, that’s just all spank bank material? Maybe don’t go talking about it to my—” What is Luther to him, anyway? His alpha? His mate? His _boyfriend_? They’ve never put it into words. “—to Luther.”

Diego scowls. “Luther,” he grinds out through clenched teeth. “That asshole doesn’t—”

“Doesn’t what, Diego? Keep me in line?”

“He doesn’t _take care of you_!” Diego shouts, fists clenched in his lap. “You’re always high now, even on missions, you don’t care about the team. You’re probably high right now—”

“I _wish_ I was high right now,” Klaus grumbles.

“—and if Luther was a good alpha, he’d make you stop!”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there,” Klaus says. He’s completely over whatever bullshit Diego has pounded into his head. “First of all, you don’t get to say I don’t care about the team when your bullshit hurt Allison today, so fuck you. Second, you don’t get to say Luther is a bad alpha to me, because you don’t know anything about our…” he stumbles over the word, unsure even now of what it is, “...bond. If you did, you’d know he can’t control me or make me do anything. The bond isn’t mind control, like Knotz or wherever you’re getting your shitty dynamic information from says.”

“I don’t read _Knotz_ , Christ, what do you take me for?” Diego gripes, like _that_ is the important thing here.

“And thirdly, even if you were my first alpha, it wouldn’t mean we’d have the—” God, why can’t he just _say it_? “—the, the _relationship_ —” There we go, said it, and didn’t _that_ make his heart skip a beat? “—that Luther and I have. Luther didn’t get that by virtue of being _first_ , he _earned_ it.”

Klaus pushes himself up to his knees, stares at Diego, challenging. “You want to know why Luther and not you?”

Diego nods, just once. He looks miserable, chastised, like he wants to cry but probably refuses to do so in front of Klaus.

“Because you want to put me on my knees,” Klaus says, keeping his voice as calm as he can. “And Luther is happy to _get_ on his knees for me.”

Diego makes a strange noise that Klaus isn’t able to interpret, somewhere between surprise and disgust and arousal. “Do you hate me?” he asks, speaking to his lap rather than Klaus.

Klaus sighs. “No, but I don’t really like you right now, either,” he says truthfully. Diego cringes and Klaus can’t help but pity him. “Just… give me a little breathing space and think about what I said. If you _do_ present as an alpha, I want our bond to have a good start. Not this.”

Diego nods and Klaus climbs to his feet. He wraps his arms around Diego briefly, lets Diego press his face to Klaus’ shoulder for a second before he pulls away. “You’re my brother and I love you no matter what,” Klaus says. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Diego says, and now he _really_ sounds on the verge of tears, so Klaus clears out of the room to give him some privacy.

—

He wants to go back to Luther, curl up with him and forget this whole conversation ever happened, but he goes to Vanya’s room instead. She’s laying on her bed, reading a dog-eared paperback he thinks he remembers Ben reading a couple of weeks ago. “Hey, Vanya?”

She jumps at his voice, losing her place in the book. “Klaus?”

“Sorry to startle you,” he says, lingering in her doorway. She’s touchy about them coming into her room uninvited sometimes. “Can you do me a favor?”

“What is it?” she asks, sitting up. The book lays forgotten on her bed.

“I just got in a big fight with Diego and I think he’s pretty upset. He uh, he probably wants to be alone now, but could you go check on him in a half hour or so?”

Vanya’s brow furrows. “Why me?”

Klaus shrugs. “He likes you. You know he thinks of you as the baby.”

Vanya rolls her eyes, but smiles, just a little. “We’re the same age. It’s not my fault you’re all giants. But yeah, I’ll go look in on him.”

“Thanks, sis. I owe you one.” He knocks on the doorframe once, smiles at her, and heads back down the hall to Luther’s room.

He needs a fucking _nap_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha wow I am so sorry this took so long. Sometimes, writing is hard! I think I started and rewrote the beginning of this chapter about ten times before I figured out where I wanted it to go.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for all your comments and kudos. It always puts a smile on my face when I get a notification! Also, I'm pretty sick right now, so let me know if you spot any major errors I might have missed while editing.

He doesn’t exactly _avoid_ Diego after their confrontation. They don’t go out of their way to hang out either, circling each other warily, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

If nothing else, Diego has laid off Luther. Going by the looks he sometimes aims at Luther, however, Diego hasn’t stopped out of a changed mind but fear of angering Klaus. It’s not quite what Klaus was shooting for, but he’ll take it. It means Luther spends less time recovering from being caned and more time making out with Klaus.

As old as they are, Dad really doesn’t bother training their powers anymore. They still have to do physical training, fighting and weapons and resisting interrogation, but the nightmarish individual training of their youth has fallen by the wayside.

Either they’ve maxed out their powers, like Luther and Diego, or Dad has just given up on trying to force his more reluctant children to try and expand them, like Klaus and Ben. He’s not sure where Allison falls on that spectrum, but Dad doesn’t bother her with individual training, either.

It means they have more free time now. Physical training and schoolwork can fill only so much of the day, and though their newly free hours don’t amount to much, it’s miles better than the one half-hour a week for fun and games of their childhoods.

Everyone uses their slivers of freedom differently. Sometimes Klaus wants to be alone, so he spends his time painting his nails, getting high or napping.

Other times, he does these things with Allison, Luther and Ben. It’s a warm day in late summer and he’s sprawled under a tree in the courtyard, rolling a joint. His blazer and sweater vest are draped over a low tree branch and he’s pulled his shoes and socks off, tossing them carelessly into the dry grass.

Ben is sprawled out several feet away, head pillowed on his blazer. He’d been reading, but when Klaus glances at him, he’s sound asleep, dozing like a cat in the sun.

He’s just about to spark up when a heavy weight drops down onto his stomach. “Oof,” he grunts, squinting up at Luther, who looks immensely pleased with himself.

“Hi,” Luther says, sliding his hands down Klaus’ arms until he pins him gently to the grass by his wrists.

Klaus grins. “Hi.” Luther’s heavy on him but he feels good too, pressure on his hips and thighs, Luther’s hands hot and strong on his arms. His dick is nestled against Luther’s ass and it perks up a little at the contact. “All done studying?”

“For now,” Luther says. He leans down, bent practically in half, and kisses Klaus, soft and familiar.

Klaus rocks his hips up, lets his hardening dick rub against Luther’s ass. Luther groans into his mouth, kisses him deeper, grips his wrists harder.

“Ugh, get a room,” Allison says from behind them, knocking the toe of her oxford against Klaus’ hip.

Klaus groans in annoyance as Luther flushes pink and sits upright before climbing off Klaus. “No, come back,” he whines as Luther flops onto the ground next to him.

“I can’t believe you’d do that in front of Ben,” Allison says, but he can tell she’s not mad. She looks like she’s trying to hide a smile. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Also, I can see your boner.”

“It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen my boner,” Klaus says, propping himself up on his elbows. She’s right, his fly is tented. What a waste. “Besides, Ben’s asleep.”

She does grin then, and sits next to him in the shade of the tree. “Like you could stay quiet enough to not wake him up,” Allison says. 

“Rude. That’s rude, and unkind, and how dare you,” Klaus says, smiling, not denying it. “How _dare_ you, Allison Hargreeves.”

Allison laughs, covering her mouth when Ben makes a soft, sleepy noise. He doesn’t wake up though, and she relaxes. “I’m just saying, my room is next to Luther’s and down the hall from yours. You are not as quiet as you think you are.”

Luther’s even pinker now, blush spreading down his neck. “Really?” 

Allison grins again, shrugging off her blazer. “Mm-hmm. Also, we’re not dumb, we know you’re not just brushing your teeth together in the bathroom for 15 minutes no matter how long you run the sink.”

“ _No_ ,” Luther moans, mortified, and Klaus rolls his eyes.

“Thanks Allison, now I’ll never get him near my dick ever again,” Klaus says, laughing despite himself. For all his eagerness Luther really is still very prudish, Dad’s influence no doubt.

Luther buries his face in Klaus’ shoulder and Klaus wraps his arm around his shoulders, patting him consolingly. “It’s okay, Luther, she’s just jealous.” 

He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, but it just goes to show how far she’s come because Allison just blinks and lets the thoughtless words roll off her back.

“I’ve _had_ you, Klaus, I’m not missing much,” she says, tossing her hair, and Klaus could just kiss her for recovering his fumble as smoothly as she did. Still, _ouch_.

“Hey, I was injured,” he protests. “Cut me some slack.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, grinning.

“You are terrible and mean,” KIaus grumbles. He remembers the joint he was rolling and rescues it from the grass, blowing a little dirt off it. 

“Ugh, really?” Luther complains when he sees it, mouth curling in disappointment. “Out here?”

“Where better?” Klaus says, sparking it up.

Allison wrinkles her nose at the smell. “Ugh, that’s awful, how can you stand it?”

Klaus shrugs. This isn’t the best weed he’s ever had, yeah, and the smell is strong, but weed is weed. “Does the job.” He takes a hit, holds the smoke in before blowing it out toward the yard. “Want some?”

Allison waves him off, but a hand reaches over from her other side and motions for it. “Me,” Ben says, face still soft with sleep. There’s grass in his hair.

Ben doesn’t partake with him often, so Klaus passes the joint over to him with glee and watches Ben take a toke. 

“I can’t believe you, Ben,” Luther says, sounding shocked. Ben just blows out the smoke and smiles.

“Unclench for one afternoon please, Number One,” Ben snarks, passing the joint back across Allison to Klaus.

Allison intercepts it and brings it to her lips while Luther squawks in outrage. “Allison! Come on, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

She shrugs, passing it to Klaus and exhaling after a few seconds. “Unclench, Number One,” she teases, grinning. Allison and Ben high-five.

“You’re all ganging up on me,” Luther complains. Klaus pats his shoulder.

“We’re just giving you a demonstration of the peer pressure we’re being deprived of by Dad homeschooling us,” Klaus says. He pets Luther’s face, kissing him briefly. “Hey, do you trust me?”

Luther gives him an uncertain look, but nods. Klaus takes a big hit, holds the joint out to Allison and presses his mouth to Luther’s.

He breathes out into Luther’s mouth, chases the smoke with his tongue. He pulls away when Luther coughs, grinning.

“See? Not so bad,” he says. Allison groans and Ben makes a gagging motion, but Klaus waves them away. 

“What was that?” Luther gasps, catching his breath.

“A shotgun. You like?” Klaus waggles his eyebrows, deliberately obnoxious, and Luther blushes again but nods. “Yeah, I knew you would.” He kisses Luther again, the weak high stealing over him making him bold. Luther slips his hand up Klaus’ back, fists his shirt.

“Gross,” Ben complains. He and Allison have done a good job demolishing the joint while Klaus and Luther were kissing, it seems. Ungrateful. “Please keep your dicks in your pants while I’m here.”

Allison giggles, leaning against Ben. “No dicks allowed,” she says. 

Klaus takes the sad remains of the joint from her hand and takes a final toke from it. He stubs it out against the tree truck and flicks the roach into the grass. He beckons Luther to him again, breathes the shotgun into his wet, waiting mouth, and lets Allison and Ben’s laughter fade into the background.

—

Their sixteenth birthday comes and goes much like the rest, with little fanfare. Diego still doesn’t present, which means he’s been storming around the academy for months with a storm cloud over his head. 

They’ve worked their way back to a tentative friendship over time, to the point where they can at least study and train together without a fight breaking out. Diego still casts looks at Klaus when he thinks Klaus isn’t looking though, so that’s something he’s not sure about.

Frankly, he kind of hopes Diego never presents. If he’s an alpha, that’s just one more complication Klaus has to deal with, and a volatile figure that will be thrust into the delicate balance he, Luther and Allison have. 

But if Diego is an omega, then he has to share one of his alphas, which he finds himself surprisingly reluctant about. He’d be okay sharing Allison, he thinks— it’d be weird, but there’s nothing but friendship between them, it could work. 

But sharing Luther is a no-go. He finds himself getting angry just _thinking_ about it, not just how sharing his— what, his alpha? His boyfriend? They really needed to have a discussion about that one of these days— but at how _miserable_ both Luther and Diego would be with the arrangement.

Probably as miserable as Allison and he are. They’ve gotten to a better place but he has no delusions that their next rut together won’t be awkward and uncomfortable. And it would be just like Reggie to forcibly bond them together for bullshit reasons and to screw Klaus over.

Maybe they’ll all get lucky and Diego will be a beta, completely out of the mess like Ben and Vanya, but he doesn’t think so. None of them are lucky.

—

Klaus is so caught up in his ever-escalating internal bullshit that he completely loses track of time and it’s Luther who reminds him of his upcoming rut.

They’re in the bathroom, “brushing their teeth,” as Allison put it, which means letting the sink run while they make out. Klaus sits on the rim of the tub with Luther between his legs, kissing each other deeply while Luther thrusts his hips, grinding against Klaus. It’s so good Klaus wishes they didn’t have to go down to lunch soon.

Luther finally pulls away, lips puffy and cheeks flushed. His hair is falling into his eyes and there’s a tent in his shorts. “We’re gonna be late for lunch,” he says.

Klaus groans, tugging futilely at Luther’s shoulders to pull him back in. “Nooo,” he whines, wrapping his leg around the back of Luther’s knee. “Come back.”

Luther laughs, kisses him once more, hard and deep, then dislodges himself from Klaus’ octopus-like grip. “We can’t right now. But in a couple of days, we won’t need to worry.”

Klaus blinks slowly at him, arousal making him slow and dumb. “Why?”

Luther snorts, turning to splash his face with cold water from the sink. Not that it’ll help. Everyone knows what they’ve been doing. “My rut?”

“Oh _shit_ , I forgot!” Klaus nearly shouts, getting to his feet. His dick is throbbing, angry at being neglected, and his ass is killing him from where the tub rim has dug in. “That time already, huh?”

It’s easy to forget because of how long there is between ruts. Luther is first, with Allison less than a month later. If Five were still here— _alive_ , his mind whispers, and he shoves the thought away— he’d be two months after her, then nothing until Luther came around again. It’s hard to believe it’s been almost five months since Allison presented.

—

Luther’s rut comes in the middle of the night and if it weren’t for the ghosts keeping Klaus awake, he might have left Luther suffering until morning. As it is, he’s sitting up in his bed, smoking out his window (just a cigarette, sadly) and listening to his Walkman. 

The tape is between songs when he hears whispers and shuffling in the hallway. It sounds like Luther and Dad, maybe Pogo, so Klaus flicks the half-smoked cigarette out the window and pauses the tape. 

“--to the suite, Pogo,” Klaus hears his father say and he gets up, tossing his Walkman to the bed and opens his door to poke his head out.

He can smell Luther immediately, that spicy, warm rut scent he carries, so different than Five or Allison. Luther is sweating, unsteady on his feet. Pogo has him by the arm but Luther lunges against him when he sees Klaus.

“Master Luther, no,” Pogo whispers, trying not to wake the whole house up. “You must come with me.”

“Go back to bed, Number Four,” Reginald orders.

“Are you kidding? Luther’s in rut, I’m not going back to sleep. I need to go with him.”

“You will just cause a commotion if you go with him like this,” Reginald says, and Klaus hates to admit it, but he has a point. The last thing any of them needs is Luther humping him in the hallway. “Once Pogo has Number One safely in the suite, I will bring you.”

Klaus squeezes his hands into fists but nods reluctantly. Luther gives him a pained, betrayed look as Pogo wrenches him away, his deceptive chimpanzee strength the only thing keeping Luther from breaking free.

“Would you have come to get me if I hadn’t been awake?” Klaus asks his father. “Or would you have let Luther suffer alone until morning?”

Reginald sniffs, looking at Klaus as if he was a particularly stupid child. “Perhaps you should take this time to brush your teeth, Number Four. I can smell the foul scent of your cigarettes from here.” 

—

Reginald comes more than an hour later to escort him to the suite. It surely didn’t take Pogo _that_ long to get Luther settled, so this was just sadistic punishment on the old man’s part.

They walk in silence through the dark house, the path familiar even with the dim lighting. There’s no sound other than the soft noise of their footsteps and the click of Reginald’s horrid cane.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Klaus says, once they’re deep enough into the house that their voices won’t wake the others.

“It does not deserve an answer,” Reginald replies, not even looking at Klaus. “Your foolishness rarely does.”

“Bullshit,” Klaus says, suddenly bold with anger. “You weren’t going to wake me up, and you’ve let him suffer alone for an _hour_ just to, what? Get one up over me?”

Reginald halts and turns to face Klaus, pressing him against the wall with the tip of his cane. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at Klaus, and Klaus feels like this is how a mouse must feel facing down a cat.

“Control yourself, Number Four. Would you like to spend your heat with stripes on your backside? Or perhaps you are too emotional for this, and I should lock you away somewhere you so you can gain control over yourself.”

“No,” Klaus whispers, the word falling involuntarily out of his mouth. All his bravado has faded away and he’s left with sheer terror, like a block of ice in his belly. Being caned would be painful, but he survived a rut with bruised ribs, he could survive one with bruises on his ass.

But being locked up separately from Luther, making Luther face his rut alone, is a threat he can’t risk. One glance at his father shows that Reginald knows that too, and Klaus slumps against the wall.

Reginald steps back and resumes walking. He knows he’s won, and he’s not the type to gloat about it. Klaus scrambles to catch up after a few seconds of letting his heart calm.

Klaus doesn’t even wait for Reginald to speak before he begins to strip outside the suite door. He’s flown too close to the sun tonight and he needs to dive back down before his wings melt.

Reginald nods in pleasure at Klaus’ obedience and opens the door. “Do your duty, Number Four,” he says, same as always.

Luther’s not as bad off as he worried. He’s sweating, yes, and clearly uncomfortable, but nowhere near the level of pain and desperation as Allison had been, or Five, all those years ago.

The door is barely closed behind him when Luther springs off the bed and pulls Klaus close to him. Klaus clings to him, still shaken from their father’s threats.

“I thought maybe you weren’t coming,” Luther says into his ear, rubbing his face against Klaus’. 

“Sorry,” Klaus says weakly. “I’m here.”

—

It’s always good with Luther, good in a different way than Five or Allison. It’s intimate. Even in the deepest ravages of his rut, Luther is careful of his strength, careful of how Klaus feels. 

They’re laying in bed together between waves, damp from taking a quick, handsy shower together. Klaus rests his head on Luther’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” he murmurs, fighting back sleep as it draws over him. 

Luther strokes his hair and makes a considering noise. “The moon,” he finally says.

Klaus smiles against Luther’s chest. “Of course, Spaceboy.”

“Don’t laugh,” Luther protests, but he’s smiling as well— Klaus can hear it in his voice. “It just seems like it would be amazing.”

“It sounds lonely,” Klaus says, letting his eyes drift shut.

“Mm,” Luther acknowledges. He sounds like he’s drifting off as well. “You could come with me.”

“What would I do on the moon?” It sounds nice, honestly. No Dad. Probably no ghosts, either.

“Suck my dick,” Luther says, laughing as Klaus pinches his side. “No, I dunno, be with me. Learn to paint. Write a play. Whatever you want.”

“Let’s do it,” Klaus says, sleep finally overtaking him. “Let’s go to the moon together.”

“Yeah,” Luther says, sounding pleased, and it’s the last thing Klaus hears before he’s asleep.

—

Time marches on. Allison’s second rut comes and goes with little fanfare and an extremely awkward two days together. They part immediately after the suite is opened up and spend about a week being weird around each other before everything clicks back into place and they’re just Allison and Klaus again, sister and brother, not reluctant alpha and omega.

About six months after they turn 16, Klaus and Luther come down to breakfast not late, but on the edge of late, thanks to some tooth-brushing time in the bathroom, to an uncomfortably familiar sight.  
Diego is not at breakfast, and Reginald is.

Allison looks at them as they enter, nerves all over her face. Diego’s finally presented then. But what is it— alpha or omega?

They take their seats quickly, ducking their heads as if by not making eye contact, their father won’t be angry about their near-tardiness.

Dad lets them eat in silence for several minutes, drinking his tea. The oatmeal is a block of cement in Klaus’ stomach. _Please let him call for Allison_ , he thinks desperately, glancing up at Luther’s pale, worried face. _Not Luther. Not me._

“Finish your breakfast quickly, Number Four,” Dad says sharply, and Klaus’ heart sinks to the floor. “You are needed.”


	10. Diego

Klaus drags his heels for the rest of breakfast. He eats his cooling, congealing oatmeal slowly, even after the gloopy mush turns from bland to actively unappetizing. He stares down into his bowl, ignoring the pleading looks of Luther, Allison and Ben’s concern, Vanya’s barely-hidden jealousy and the impatient, demanding glares of his father.

Finally, the bowl is scraped clean and his glass of juice is empty. There’s no more delaying. He sighs, puts his spoon down and gets to his feet.

“Come along, Number Four,” Reginald says, voice and face sour with being made to wait. “You’ve neglected your duties long enough.”

Luther makes to stand, maybe protest or something else equally useless, but a cutting look from Reginald has him sinking into his seat again, face unhappy. Klaus gives him a weak, tight-lipped smile.

It’s fine. This isn’t his first rodeo. It’s not any different than it was with Allison, or Five, or even Luther. That first time, back before they were anything other than reluctant siblings who barely got along. 

Diego’s no different. Everything is fine.

—

They walk in silence to the suite and Klaus doesn’t bother waiting for Reginald to give him orders, just starts taking off his clothes as they walk. He finishes stripping at the door and dumps them in his father’s arms. 

He tries to project an aura of boredom, rather than the nerves eating him up inside.

“Do your duty, Number Four,” Dad says, opening the door. “The final piece is in place now.”

“What?” Klaus asks, confused, because he has _no_ idea what Dad is talking about. But Reginald has never explained anything in his life and isn’t about to start now, so he just shoves Klaus inside the suite and locks the door behind him.

Klaus braces himself, expecting Diego to pounce on him the second he’s inside, but there’s nothing but faint, ragged, snuffly breathing coming from the bed. “Diego?”

Diego’s sitting on the bed, hunched over. His shoulders are shaking a little. 

“Diego? You okay?” Klaus moves closer, but Diego doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t even look up until Klaus rests his hand on one of his bare shoulders.

Diego jumps a little, startled. He really _didn’t_ notice Klaus before. His eyes are red and he swipes at them, almost angrily. “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” Klaus says, which is pretty much true. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Diego says gruffly, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Let’s get this over with.”

He reaches for Klaus, who pulls away. “I’m not ready yet,” he says, and he’s not, he’s not even wet. “And frankly, it doesn’t seem like _you’re_ ready yet.”

“Of course I’m ready,” Diego says. “I’ve _been_ ready for years. I’m an alpha, like I _told you_ I’d be. So get over here.”

Klaus leans against the wall instead. “You’re not even hard, Diego,” he says, gently, because as much as Diego is trying to antagonize him, falling for the bait will only make things worse. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not scared!” Diego shouts, getting to his feet, but Klaus can see how terrified he is. “I’m _not_ scared. I’m—”

“Diego,” Klaus says, reaching out and grasping his shoulders. “It’s okay.”

Diego’s shaking again, clearly trying to hold back tears. “I should be ready. I shouldn’t be scared, like some _baby_ —”

“Everyone’s scared the first time,” Klaus soothes, pulling Diego close. Diego holds himself stiffly in his arms for a second before going boneless, clinging to Klaus the way he used to cling to Grace when they were younger and Diego lost to Luther in training. “Allison was scared. Five was scared.”

“I bet Luther wasn’t scared,” Diego mumbles into Klaus’ shoulder. Klaus sighs.

“Luther… didn’t have time to be scared. It came on too quickly. If he’d had time, he’d have been scared too. I was scared, my first time.”

_I’m scared every first time_ , he doesn’t say. Someone has to be the strong one here.

He strokes Diego’s back, his hair, lets Diego bury his face in the crook of his neck and scent him. The fear is holding back Diego’s rut for now, but it’ll come whether Diego is fully ready or not.

“Don’t tell Luther about this,” Diego whispers. “Don’t tell _anyone_.”

“I won’t,” Klaus promises, letting his hand linger on Diego’s strong, warm back. “Our secret.”

—

Diego calms down slowly, either through Klaus’ words or scent, and as he calms, his rut grows. He shifts from clinging to Klaus to cradling him against the wall, licks his neck. Klaus sighs in relief when the first faint flicker of heat unspools in his belly.  
“Yeah, that’s it,” Klaus breathes, feeling Diego harden against his thigh. Slick trickles out of him, drips down his leg, cooling in the air. “Come on, Diego, that’s it.”

Diego mouths against Klaus’ jaw, nuzzling his nose behind his ear, down his neck. He nips at Klaus’ adam’s apple, panting wetly into the hollow of his throat. His hands run down Klaus’ arms, pin him to the wall so he can frot against him, hard, leaking dick pressed into the dip of Klaus’ hip.

“Bed,” Klaus gasps. His heat is coming on strong, washing over him in waves, but he’s still coherent enough to know he does _not_ want to be stuck knotted on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed only a few steps away. “Diego, bed.”

Diego snarls, hands on Klaus’ hips, but Klaus draws up every speck of willpower and shoves him away. “Klaus,” Diego complains, reaching for him, but Klaus staggers away from the wall.

“If you’re going to fuck me, Diego, do it on the bed.”

Diego practically shoves him onto the bed and Klaus at least gets on his back with his hips at the edge of the mattress before Diego is on him, pressing into him fast and deep. It’s like a punch in the gut. It _burns_ , too hard and too fast. 

Diego fucks him frantically, like his rut is tripping over itself to make up for lost time. Klaus can only cling on for the ride, pain and pleasure fighting deep inside of him. It hurts, but it always hurts the first time. 

He doesn’t last long— alphas never do the first round. It’s only a few minutes before Diego is barking out a hoarse cry and hunching over Klaus, his knot swelling inside of him as warmth floods him, a hot, heavy pressure deep inside. 

Diego bites down hard on Klaus’ shoulder, the opposite side from Luther’s bite. His teeth dig in like he’s afraid his mark won’t be seen. 

Klaus stifles a scream, the shock of pain punching his orgasm out of him. 

—

Klaus winces when Diego’s knot deflates enough that he can pull out, come spilling out of him and onto the bedspread. It stings, but not like he’s bleeding. Just the usual discomfort of being fucked too fast, too soon.

Diego gets to his knees, shaking, probably from both adrenaline and exhaustion. There’s blood on his teeth, and Klaus brings his hand up to press onto the throbbing, bleeding bite.

He wants a bath. A bath and a nap and bottle of Vicodin. But he’ll take a bath, if that’s all he can get.

Klaus squirms out from under Diego and rolls off the bed, grunting with discomfort when he lands in an awkward crouch. “Bath,” he mumbles, struggling to his feet.

Diego’s still looking pretty come-dumb, but he at least realizes his new omega is getting away because he rolls off the bed as well (much more gracefully than Klaus did, he thinks sourly) and wraps his arm around Klaus’ waist.

“Let me help,” he says, though he definitely cops a feel as he helps Klaus limp to the bathroom. Klaus doesn’t mind much. He’s had Diego’s tongue in his mouth and his knot in his ass. Diego’s hand on him doesn’t really register.

He doesn’t let Klaus immediately get into the bath, though. Diego forces him into the shower first, carefully cleans out the bite on his shoulder and helps him rinse the come and slick from between his legs.

Klaus can’t help but drowse, sitting on the little shelf-like seat in the shower. He leans heavily against Diego’s side while he washes Klaus’ sweaty hair, rinsing the suds from his face almost gently.

“Everyone who hasn’t had a cycle thinks it’s a constant thing,” Klaus murmurs against the strong muscle of Diego’s torso. “Like we fuck for two days straight. I think I’d die if that were true.”

Diego huffs a soft laugh, slicks conditioner through Klaus’ hair, though why he’s bothering when Klaus is just going to get filthy again is beyond him. It feels nice though, so he doesn’t stop him. “You don’t have the stamina for that?” Diego teases.

“Hell no. My ass needs a break.”

Diego tilts Klaus’ chin up, face painted with concern. “Did I hurt you?”

Klaus waves his concern away. “Don’t worry about it. It always hurts the first time.”

Diego frowns, like that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but he just shields Klaus’ eyes and rinses his hair, strong fingers massaging his scalp. Klaus groans.

“You can just keep doing that forever if you want,” he says, melting at the sensation.

“Ha, I’ve found your weakness, Seance,” Diego says, in a terrible villain imitation, and Klaus laughs.

Diego turns the shower off and helps Klaus get out. “Still want that bath?”

“Yes, please.”

They share a glass of water from the sink while the tub fills, both gulping the lukewarm water down like they’ve been lost in the Sahara for days. 

Sinking into the hot water is an instant relief. Klaus moans, muscles relaxing as the heat works its magic.

He has a few blissful moments alone before Diego climbs in after him, settling across the tub in a way that’s uncomfortably reminiscent of both Luther and Five.

Diego grimaces as he settles in, dropping a hand underwater to cup himself. “My dick hurts,” he gripes, cradling it like one might a baby rabbit. “What the fuck.”

“Well, you’re an alpha now. You suddenly developed a knot, that has to hurt.” He leans back, drapes a dripping washcloth over his eyes to hopefully squash the headache he can feel forming.

Klaus dozes in the tub, water cooling around him, until Diego suddenly gets up on his knees, displacing water onto the floor as he does.

“Getting cold?” Klaus asks, pulling the washcloth from his eyes. “We can turn the hot water back—”

Diego surges forward, splashing more water, and kisses Klaus. Not the frantic, biting desperation of kissing during rut but a full-on, head-cupping, Hollywood romantic kiss. He settles on Klaus, perched on his thighs.

It’s a good kiss, practiced— there’s no way Diego hasn’t had at least a couple of hookups, Klaus guesses— and for a heartbeat Klaus falls into it, hands on Diego’s back, lips parted for his tongue.

The rut cycle is still in its downswing. Klaus can feel it, the heat sleeping inside of him, the lack of sizzling hormones in the air. This is just Diego. He pulls back. “Diego, what—”

Diego chases his mouth, kisses him again, before Klaus wrenches his face away. “Let me have this,” Diego says, almost begging. He grips Klaus’ arms.

“Diego,” Klaus says softly, torn between outrage and pity. “Us bonding isn’t going to—”

“I know. I _know_. But for the next two days, let me have this. Four days a year, you’re mine. And I’m okay with that.”

Klaus doubts that. This can only end badly. But Diego looks so pleading, so desperate that Klaus can’t help but nod.

Diego grins, relief washing over his face, and he kisses Klaus again, soft and sweet.

Klaus closes his eyes and lets him.

—

When their cycles burn out, Klaus is physically sore and worn out, but it’s the emotional exhaustion that is really getting to him. He lingers in the bathroom, long enough that Diego reluctantly leaves the suite without him.

Maybe it’s just because he’s only been with Luther and Allison recently, and Five only once, but it’s harder to emotionally disconnect this time, after spending two days with Diego treating this more as a honeymoon than the weird forced bonding it is.

He doesn’t have the same kind of feelings for Diego as he does for Luther, as he might have for Five if given the chance. He knows this. But he also doesn’t feel the same emotional distance with Diego that he does with Allison. There’s _something_ there. He just doesn’t know what it is.

“Urgh,” Klaus groans, dunking his head under the shower stream. The water has been running so long it’s gone cold and he’s pruny, so he reluctantly turns it off and steps out into the bathroom.

He roughly dries himself off as he steps into the bedroom, which is hopefully Diego-free.

It is, but it isn’t empty. Reginald is sitting in one of the chairs, waiting for him.

“Christ!” Klaus shouts, almost dropping his towel in surprise. “Dad, what are you doing here?”

Reginald doesn’t say anything, just studies him. Klaus, suddenly self-conscious, wraps the towel around himself.

“Take it off,” Reginald orders. Klaus closes his eyes and lets the towel fall, exposing the bruises on his hips and thighs, the raw bite on his shoulder. The jut of his ribs and hipbones. His limp, sore dick, small and defenceless in the patch of dark hair between his legs.

He trembles as he stands there, not from cold or exhaustion but something he can’t name. His eyes remain closed but he can still feel his father looking at him, examining him like a lab specimen.

Reginald brushes his fingers, thin and old but somehow still so, so strong, over the healed bites on Klaus’s neck and chest, the open wound of Diego’s mark. His skin _crawls_ when his father touches the marks.

“Don’t—” he says, shoulders curling protectively inward. 

“Silence.”

He wants to _run_ , to jerk away from his father’s touch and get away, but he holds himself still, shaking like a leaf in a storm. Icy water from his hair drips down his chest and back, little freezing drops that cause him to shiver.

“You were not my first choice, Number Four, but nature does have its way of doing what it wants, doesn’t it?” Reginald muses, soft, almost like he’s speaking to himself. He presses firmly on the new bite, and Klaus flinches, lips pressed together to keep himself from making any sound. “Somehow, despite your multiple deficiencies, you’ve completed your task. Perhaps your dynamic _is_ good for something, after all.”

Reginald briefly touches Allison’s mark, then lingers over Five’s, before finally resting his cold fingers on Luther’s mark, faded white over the years. Klaus represses a shudder.

“It’s a shame about Number Six, but he has always been an underachiever,” Reginald continues. He brings his hands up to cup Klaus’ face. 

Klaus freezes like a mouse in front of a snake. Every speck of his being screams to run, but he knows he can’t. He doesn’t know what his father is doing, but he doesn’t like it one bit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whispers, trembling. He’s cold and damp and naked and so, so exhausted.

Reginald snorts, petting his son’s face like one might a particularly stupid dog. It’s not a good feeling. “Of course you don’t,” he says. “Whatever little brains in your skull have dribbled out your ears these past few days, thanks to Number Two.”

Klaus bites his lip, looking away until Reginald turns his face back. 

“Do you know _why_ I’ve bonded you to the others?” Reginald asks, stroking Klaus’ face.

A million responses go through Klaus’ mind, none safe to say out loud. _Because you’re a creep, because it gets you off, because you hate me, because you hate all of us, because you want to fuck me yourself and you refuse to, because you want to fuck me yourself but you can’t get it up._ Tired and frightened as he is, Klaus is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he just shakes his head.

“Of course you don’t,” Reginald says, and he grips Klaus’ chin tighter. “It brings the team together, Number Four. Through you.”

“That’s _it_?” Klaus sputters, outrage finally outweighing his fear. “All of this— you whored me out to my brothers and sister for _team bonding?_ ”

His father’s hand against his face isn’t surprising, but it catches him off guard. Pain blooms across his cheek and jaw. 

“I have made a stronger team, through their bonds to you,” Reginald says, unruffled, as if he hadn’t just slapped Klaus so hard he’s tasting blood where his teeth cut the inside of his mouth. “The team dynamic will be stronger, more secure. You should be grateful, Number Four.”

Klaus curls into himself, cradling his sore cheek. “I don’t understand,” he whispers. “Why?”

“You were a weak link in the chain. A simpering child, afraid of his own power. Almost as useless as Number Seven.” Reginald strokes his face, almost possessively. “Now, you have purpose. You are the base to which they will all return. Even Number Six, despite his unfortunate beta status, is emotionally attached to you. Quite remarkable.”

“This is insane,” Klaus says, pleading almost. “You know that, right? This is _insane_.”

“You’re distraught,” Reginald says. “I should have known this would be too much for your fragile, omega senses.” He pats Klaus’ cheek, a firm touch meant to prod the soreness. A warning. “Get dressed and go rest. Your training resumes tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> The siblings are 13 in this (at least, for the first several chapters) and therefore underage, so give this a miss if that bothers you. I've tagged it as dubious consent because of the nature of Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics.
> 
> You can find me at saintawesome.tumblr.com.


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